A Particular Understanding
by najadi
Summary: Queen Elsa of Arendelle has regained her throne, but ruling a nation recovering from a crisis while coping with her own demons proves to be far more challenging than expected. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and Her Majesty forges a peculiar agreement with the very man accused of conspiracy and attempted treason. Non AU post-canon Helsa (elsa x hans), slow burn.
1. where a prince tries to be a hero

_I'm really fascinated by Hans and find him a very interesting and tragic character despite his dickishness. I wrote this originally as an exercise to speculate on his possible motivations and thought processes. Hence the first chapter is essentially the end of Frozen from Hans' POV to lay down the groundwork - but after that it's all mine._

_Comments most appreciated, especially the constructive kind! Even if I don't always reply in the comments, I really appreciate and cherish all feedback, it's interesting to see the reader's interpretations. _

_Thanks for reading!_

/**NEW!** A background **"Extras"** document with a character listing, the music I listen to when writing and other such extra tidbits can be found here :

** https:** [double slash] **goo **[point] **gl **[slash] **zMTHR6**

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I

_where a prince tries to be a hero_

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When the heavy cell door closed behind him, the thud sounded louder than it should have been, heavier and fateful. Hans felt odd, with an unpleasant lightness in his head and a churning of lead in his stomach. There was a curious tight feeling in his chest, too. What was to be done now? What was the course? He took a deep breath, held it, exhaled, shook his head to sort his thoughts and started to walk towards the upper floors. Get Anna, the Queen had said. Anna, his wayward bride, second-in-line to the throne, who'd ridden off into the blizzard and vanished. As fickle as she seemed to be, for the kingdom of Arendelle she was undoubtedly a better option for a monarch than Elsa, the cursed queen of snow who was now locked in her own cell.

He'd placed far too much faith on the Queen's ability to control her powers. Taken it for granted, really, that was stupid and naive of him - but it had never occurred to him that she would only be able to unleash and not to rein in. _She was terrified._ She'd begged him to let her go, as was expected, but not because the imprisonment was an affront to her, nor because she claimed to have done no wrong, but because she considered herself a danger to her own realm. She was a curse, her presence a threat, she knew it full well, and the knowledge seemed to fill her with great terror. Hans saw her vividly in his mind; powerful, beautiful, dangerous - and so very scared of herself. At her ice palace on the North Mountain, she'd seemed like a completely different person than the distant and reserved young queen they'd all admired at the coronation, playing the part so perfectly, proper and courteous if a little too timid for a monarch. It had been hard to believe the formidable sorceress encountered at the palace was the same woman, transformed into an apparition of fiercely blazing magical power.

But it had been her, and thankfully she had listened to reason, giving up her attack at his urging, snapping out of it as if woken from a daze. _Attack? It was self-defense and you know it._ The thought stung. He'd brought the assassins to her door himself, albeit unknowingly. He'd need to have a stern word with the Duke about that, at some point. He did not appreciate being used for a puppet and a decoy, especially by that pompous, self-important little prune. He ground his teeth together. The volunteers of the Arendelle militia had not seen the deception through their shock. Believing that their queen had tried to murder her own men, they had wanted to kill her while she lay unconscious, quickly, before she'd wake and drown them all in snow or impale them on icicles. He'd interfered, and had for a desperate moment thought that they would not listen to him - but his authority and royal air had prevailed, his command was obeyed and the Queen spared. He'd had to do it. She was still the rightful queen after all, and besides, murdering a helpless, unconscious woman was vile and wrong, witch or not.

He reached the gate level and decided to make a little detour outside before returning to the gathered envoys, to give himself more time to think. His thoughts always flowed best when moving, and he hoped the outside air would help him make some sense of the situation. Or at least help him decide his stance on the whole mess, to come up with a neatly thought-out plan or opinion to present to the other dignitaries. The last thing he wanted to do was appear confused or indecisive, especially in front of the Duke of _Weaseltown_.

Hans remembered Queen Elsa at the coronation, when her mask collapsed under the scene Anna so publicly raised and her power broke out of control. She'd looked like a hunted animal then, so vulnerable and threatened, petrified with fear. He'd felt an overwhelming urge to comfort and protect her. He thought there might have been a brief moment where she could have altered the course of events, maybe tried to turn it all into a jest, to shift the mood - but she'd turned tail and ran, and the shocked surprise of the guests had turned to confusion and fear. The moment had passed and things had been set in motion. Still, the memory lingered, and he'd found himself unable to allow her to be killed. Instead, he'd brought her back to the city on his own horse, holding her slight body up with his own while pretending not to hear the nervous mutterings of his - her - men. Was that unwise? Should he have simply left her lying there and walked away, abandoning her to her fate?

What the devil had he been thinking of, actually? Letting the Queen be killed by her own frightened subjects might in fact have been the wisest thing to do. To stand aside and not interfere, and let the history of a nation take it's own course. He was engaged to princess Anna, second in line to the throne. Elsa's death would have made Anna the princess regent, the queen not yet crowned, and him the king-to-be as her future husband. _That's the thing, isn't it, future._ They weren't married yet, and Anna was missing. And if she should disappear into the wild for good, never to be seen again? Who would take the throne? There were a thousand ways for a woman to die alone in the wilderness in wintertime, even with proper gear, and Anna had ridden off in her fine coronation gown, with only a borrowed cloak. Of course, it was supposed to be high summer, but the snowbanks and the blizzards were there nonetheless. Hans frowned, cursing under his breath in exasperation.

He strode out through the gates. Clear air, clear thoughts, that's what Hafleikr always said, and he definitely needed his thoughts clear now. The cold air nipped at his face and he lifted the collar of his coat up against the cold, more for the gesture than any real benefit. He felt himself to be at a crossroads, a rare definitive turning point in history, a wild moment where anything can happen and events can move to any direction, take any route, depending on the actions of the individuals. Most of the time, he knew, things were set down and successions mapped out in advance, unions and wars foreseen, planned and developed. But no-one had anticipated the young Queen suddenly turning out to be a witch at her own coronation and inflicting an uncontrollable plight upon her people.

Was it fate? He'd come to Arendelle for the coronation as a diplomatic representative of his country, but also as an aspiring suitor. Arendelle was a nice little kingdom with only two unengaged, young, inexperienced, marriageable sisters to rule it. A nice prize for every unnecessary royal second (or younger) son around, to be sure, even if no-one had seen the sisters in years. He supposed that was why there hadn't been a bigger crowd of hopeful princely bachelors - the whispers circulating the courts had assumed the determined royal seclusion was due to some hideous deformity or mental instability, but he was desperate and unneeded enough to at least come to inspect the situation. He had been very pleasantly surprised. The sisters were both incredibly lovely and seemingly sane. He had scarcely believed his luck when it'd turned out the fetching, spirited lady he'd (very literally) run into was in fact the princess royal, unattended and desperately eager for new acquaintances. He'd aimed for the queen-to-be at first, of course, like the rest of the hopefuls, but she'd firmly refused all contact before the crowning and had been decidedly formal and distant in every small encounter anyone had managed. He now knew why, but at the time had simply thought her to be proud, aloof and unpleasantly haughty.

While everyone was flocking around Elsa, no-one had competed with him for Anna's attention - though he knew it would only be a short matter of precious time before someone would notice the princess' embarrassingly obvious longing for attention and romance, and use it to their advantage. She seemed like she was ready to attach herself to the first man who bothered to smile at her. So why not him? He'd worried that some other aspiring admirer would wedge themselves into her favour if he didn't move fast, and had put all of his charm to full use in order to secure her affections and appear as a great match for her, a veritable soul mate. He had actually worried he might overdo it and appear too eager, that she would realise that he was trying very hard to show just what she wanted to see, but her delighted responses had exceeded his wildest dreams, and so he pushed on. It paid off. She'd agreed to marry him the very same night! His feelings on the outcome of the pursuit were curiously mixed. It was what he wanted and hoped for, so naturally he was pleased, but at the same time couldn't help but disapprove of her behaviour.

Such recklessness was absolutely not fitting for a princess second in line to the throne, who might very possibly become the queen of her nation, and her chosen husband its king with her. What's more, Arendelle had only two royal brides to offer the world. Two chances to form beneficial blood connections with the other kingdoms, no more, and they ought to have considered very carefully who to choose. Of course, it all worked to his advantage, but it was unnerving nonetheless.

Anna would become queen now, should she return alive. However, she seemed absolutely unfit to rule, completely thoughtless about the consequences of her actions and decisions, however well-intended they were. For some noble-born little maiden, whimsy was acceptable, even endearing - but the fancies and whimsies of a queen affect her whole kingdom and its people with her. He was deeply worried about Anna's impending reign. She had even suggested, in all seriousness, that all twelve of his older brothers would come live with them in Arendelle! All twelve, as if none of the royal princes had anything of importance to do in their own kingdom, no affairs of the crown to maintain or duties to attend to, and they could all just bugger off to go _live_ in a foreign land. It was utterly incredible. Almost as if she didn't have the foggiest idea of what it meant to be royalty despite being a princess, not the slightest understanding of the duty and responsibility that came with royal privilege. At that moment, Hans had realised with a sinking feeling that his marriage would not be a very happy one, that he was destined to join the ranks of the husbands suffering their wives' idiocies with a pained but resigned air. Perhaps she was born simple?

_I'll have to find a way to rein her in_, he thought grimly. _She has to learn some proper manners before she'll shame her entire country. If she already hasn't._ The scene she raised at the ballroom was a complete disgrace. Tainting the historical occasion of her sister's coronation with her petty little emotional tantrum! No-one in his family would ever have dreamed for a second of having such a _private matter_ displayed in front of the gathered envoys of every important collaborator they had. The gossip would be fluttering about the courts of the other kingdoms for years and years, he was sure. It was too juicy, the princess starting a private family quarrel about a _love matter_ with the Queen at her own coronation, in public, like an immodest, shameless skivvy. How very _very_ vulgar. Hans could practically hear his mother's voice, brimming with disapproval. He made a face and took another deep sigh, the cold air crisp and sharp in his lungs.

Anna had seemed so delightful when they'd first met, but his opinion of her had quickly plummeted, and sunk further with every new moment spent with her. He supposed she was very charming in her own way, still, but for a royal person in her station she was far too unchecked, spoiled, immodest and incredibly self-centered, completely ignoring her obligations as a princess of the realm. Although he carefully hid his feelings from her, it annoyed him endlessly, her careless disregard for her position and all it's implications. Wearing her heart on her sleeve for all to see and thinking only of herself. Entirely unlike her sister. Her sister, the imprisoned sorceress queen. Elsa.

He was walking slowly towards the main square, the coronation banderols still up at the poles, frozen stiff with hoarfrost. They had the Queen's silhouette on them. He stopped and stared at her likeness.  
_I don't know anything about her_, he thought. Had she been cursed? Or had she always had this power, the dreadful force beyond her control, while living amongst her family and servants, pretending to be normal? How long had she been aware of being such a clear, direct threat to those around her? Anna had sworn she didn't know, and he believed her. Had she really kept it all to herself - while knowing she couldn't control her dangerous power? He looked out over the water, at the ice stretching into the horizon as far as he could see, cracking and booming as it grew thicker still at her presence. _Such immense power._ She couldn't really have attempted to hide that side of her forever, to pretend it didn't exist? Had she?

What a front, quite a role to play. Turning one's whole life into a performance, trying to play the person one is expected to be instead of being the one one is. He knew what that was like from bitter experience. Putting on a show, living most of your life behind the mask, or armour, of cheer and charm and politeness, showing everyone exactly what they want to see and not what's really there. Never letting anyone see they've gotten a hit in, because when you seem weak and vulnerable you're as good as done, you've already lost, and because that's what you're supposed to do as a royal, grin and bear it. Whatever comes your way. It's your duty, after all. You can't change the cards you're dealt, you can only play with them as best you can. And he played to win.

He looked at the Queen's profile again, obscured behind the frost. They were more alike than he'd thought, in a way. The numbing desperation, the choking, constricted feeling, the devastating lack of options, the hidden, burning bitterness. _Are they your companions too, Elsa?_ Is that what she'd tried to become, a perfect image of a perfect queen, shrouding the flawed, anomalous, real woman with her horrifying secret from all the world forever?

Some-one must have known, she was the crown princess, for heaven's sake. Heirs apparent didn't skip around unmonitored, catching curses from God knows where or developing magical powers at random without anyone paying attention or bothering to care. _Younger princes, perhaps_, Hans smirked to himself. But not the crown heirs. What about her parents, the late king and queen? _They died accidentally, at sea,_ he remembered, glancing at the icy vastness with it's crushing hold on the ships, creaking and moaning under the cold embrace. Could the king have tried to remove his cursed offspring from the line of succession, deeming a princess bursting with uncontrollable magic too unreliable for the throne? Provoking her to - no, he didn't really believe it. She seemed so intimidated and emotionally fragile it was impossible to believe she would have murdered her own parents for standing in her way. So gentle and nervous - and yet he remembered the moment when she'd been a heartbeat away from pushing a man to his death and skewering the other, hunched in her attack like a frenzied beast. She'd have done it, too, if he hadn't stopped her. She had a smoldering fire in her, he mused. A true fighting spirit, an unrelenting core of steel somewhere beneath it all. Bloodlust, too? An appetite for vengeance, perhaps? He truly knew nothing about her.

_She's let go of the mask_, he thought. _She's finally being herself, even if it scares her._ The thought felt appealing. There was something in her transformation, in this new alluring, sparkling form, that sang of elation mixed in with the desperation and the shame. _The shame of being magical_.  
The whole thing was surreal. The world had gone mad and become a fairytale. The Queen had turned into a character from children's tales, but somehow seemed to be more herself, more real and alive. But was she the cursed princess to be saved, or the wicked witch to be vanquished? And what was his role in this story? _I'm the handsome prince who rides in, saves the day, marries the princess and gets the kingdom. Isn't that what I've always wanted to be?_ He felt the lead in his stomach again. His gut feeling about it all was bad, very bad.  
Things felt wrong somehow, as if he was about to make a misstep on unknown territory, walking on thin ice without knowing where the treacherous parts were, thinking he was on the right path until he'd fell through.

_You think too much, Hans,_ said an unpleasant sharp voice at the back of his head. _You always did think too much and do too little, hesitating too long, getting lost in your ridiculous musings and fancy tales._ His legs felt reluctant to move, but he walked to the main square, his chest tightening with every step. He stood at the square, letting his gaze swoop across the buildings, the now dead maypole, the ever-growing snowbanks, the icicles large enough to kill a man at the eaves where the heat was escaping from the houses, the streets abandoned to the piling snow and crippling cold, all the people huddling indoors for warmth. The city was frozen stiff, helpless, waiting for spring to release it. He looked further up at the hills, finding the batches of what seemed to have been fields now vanished under the snow, and closed his eyes. The cold was biting his numbing face hard now. He felt tired and weary.

Hans finally allowed the thought he'd been very carefully avoiding to take a clear shape.

_She has to die._

There was no doubt about that. Arendelle was dying. The kingdom had been caught completely unawares, utterly unprepared for winter. He had sworn on his honour to take care of Arendelle. He took his duties seriously - always had, as an attempt to be taken more seriously himself, not that it'd worked - and as per his military training had tried to assess the situation thoroughly when he'd been left in charge. He'd done what he could to ensure the people wouldn't freeze to death through their summer windows, but he was painfully aware of just how disastrous the whole situation was. Affairs of the crown had apparently been run very sloppily and inefficiently for a few years at least, and things were in dreadful disarray. There were no real emergency stores, nothing near enough to carry the population through the winter. _Even if this winter could end while she lives._ In fact, he was worried about the looming natural autumn and the winter following on its heels. If this magical freeze lasted any longer, the crops would die for good, and then the kingdom would truly be doomed.

Hans had already started to get attached to Arendelle, viewing it as his responsibility, as a place meant for him. He wanted so badly to come into his own, to leave all of the misery and humiliation behind him, the cruel head games and the superficial politeness laced with poison. He could rule competently and well, he was certain, better than most of his insufferable brothers. Definitely infinitely better than either of the blundering royal sisters of Arendelle. _But the right to rule was never about competence, was it_, he thought bitterly,_ and the realm was the one who ultimately paid the price for the mistakes of incompetent firstborns_.

If the winter didn't end soon, people would have to move away, but how would they pay their way or keep, leaving their possessions behind save for what they could carry? Would they scatter to the world, leaving their queen behind to rule alone in a frozen land? No, the solution was obvious, however uncomfortable. For the sake of the kingdom, its queen had to be killed in order to put an end to this devastating false winter, and the sooner the better_._

The thought pained him far more than he'd thought. _What did you think, you fool? That she was the evil sorceress from the stories, the foe who curses the kingdom out of spite and runs away to her ice palace in the mountains? Who will change her mind and lift the spell with a snap of her fingers when it's asked sweetly enough of her, just like that? _  
Indeed, that's what he'd hoped. That somehow it could be set to rights, maybe have Elsa declared unfit for ruling, dethroned, perhaps imprisoned - but not dead. Not dead, not her. He thought of her eyes, blue and deep like the sky on a clear winter day. _Stop wallowing in past hopes and staring at blocked paths like a confused cow_, the voice hissed at him. _It's impossible, that option is gone, it didn't work out, stop thinking about it._ He opened his eyes, deliberately pushing her memory away. Let go. Plan failed, make a new one. _Focus on the possible, you weak, pathetic, sentimental twit. It's your moment. Seize it._ He didn't want to have Elsa killed, but there was no choice. _Seize it._ He looked at the ailing kingdom again, mustering strength behind his resolve. _It has to be done._ Yes. The decision was made. The course was clear in front of him. _Seize it._

He turned and strode briskly towards the castle, hoping to shake off the damned wistfulness. The main thing now was to track princess Anna down, bring her back in tolerable health and marry her as soon as was possible. He'd have to gather another search party. This time, he dearly hoped, there would be no murderous snow monsters, although with his luck Anna would have caught some curse of her own by now and would likely be turned into a swan or a troll by the time he reached her. _Getting distracted with your stupid fancies again, idiot. Focus._ He started to plan the practicalities. Princess Anna had chased after Queen Elsa alone in order to bring her disgraced sister back, and to make things right, whatever the devil that meant. Convincing everyone that an inexperienced sorceress as a queen was in fact a good thing and not an ungodly abomination? Maybe talk the Queen into retreating out of the public life and taking her place, turning her own debut to polite society into a debut into politics and power? It was very brave of Anna, brave, reckless and bloody foolish.

_And if she'd bothered to respect her sister's - her queen's - wishes and thrown her tantrum in private, maybe no-one would have needed to chase after anyone and no-one would need to die._ The sudden thought flared in his mind with anger, bright and hot. The Queen had managed to keep her powers under control for so long. Perhaps, just perhaps, had there been no disastrous public scene, her powers would not have escaped her so violently and there would be no crisis, no exile, no curse that needed to be washed away with royal blood. Perhaps they could have managed to sort it out between themselves, perhaps they would have even agreed that Anna ought to take the throne, with him by her side, and there would have been no need to clear Elsa out of the way. No need for any of this distasteful unpleasantness.

_Perhaps this, perhaps that, only if._ He harrumphed at himself, getting sidetracked again. Focus on the possible and the present, not the past. Where could she have gone? She hadn't aimed directly for the North Mountain, that he knew for sure. He'd led the first rescue mission straight up the mountain, assuming they would naturally come by Anna on what seemed to be the most logical path for Elsa to have taken. Sure enough, they'd found the Queen, but not a trace of the princess. He felt another sharp tinge of annoyance at her and grit his teeth. _Could she not have been sensible and predictable for once?_ Anna could be anywhere, absolutely anywhere, it would take them precious time to find her, maybe too long for her - or the kingdom. He thought of the snow monster they'd fought at the Queen's gates with sudden unease. No, she was the Queen's own sister, surely Elsa's minions had not attacked her? She would never hurt me, Anna had said. He had to trust that and believe she was still alive and well. She had to be.

He found the dignitaries huddled together in the chess room, nervously talking amongst themselves in hushed tones. They greeted his arrival with relieved enthusiasm, like officers glad to see their general, glad that some-one else was there to take the responsibility off their shoulders and make the decisions. It felt good, the authority, the influence. It felt natural. Reminding himself that he was supposedly madly in love with his bride in the eyes of the world, he chose his tone accordingly when informing them of his plans. He was surprised when they protested his announcement of going back out to look for the princess, unwilling to be left leaderless again.  
"You cannot risk going out there again," pleaded du Fourberenard, the Galterrean ambassador. Hans whipped around to point out that should his dear bride suffer any harm, both him and the realm would be utterly devastated and lost. The Umbirian, count what's-his-name, cut him short.  
"If anything happens to the princess, you are all Arendelle has left."

Him?  
He was nowhere near the official Arendelle line of succession, not before they'd been wed. And not truly even then, the real claim to the throne was in Anna's blood, and that of their future children. But him? Now? Already? He had not even considered the possibility of by-passing Anna and ascending to the throne on his own as a complete outsider. _That's a coup d'etat._ Would it be possible? Could he just waltz in and declare himself the new monarch, just like that? He glanced at the eager faces of the gathered diplomats. They certainly already seemed to treat him as the de facto ruler of Arendelle.  
Wasn't that what he was, actually? The one left in charge, by the last royal order of the princess, heard by everyone? The one who had been there for the people in their time of desperate need, to provide authority, order and shelter while the actual royal rulers had ran off after the unbelievable had happened, leaving them frightened, confused and lost? They would not protest, and the dignitaries would back his claim. In the eyes of the people, the Queen was a wicked sorceress who'd cursed the land and abandoned her subjects in the first day of her reign, and the princess had vanished. He was the only option left that was right and familiar, behaving the way royals were expected to behave in times of crisis, leading and ruling. He represented the way back to normality, reality, safety. Yes, it was very possible, but to even attempt it was high treason. The realisation rushed through him like a wave, almost choking him with the immensity of the decision. He drew a deep breath, his thoughts swirling._ Seize it. Quick._

And then a voice called his name, a clamour stumbled into the room and suddenly Anna was there, supported by the servants, weak and seemingly injured but definitely alive. Relief flooded over him and he ran to her like an excited child, grateful that she was alive, that he didn't need to make the monumental choice just yet. He didn't wish her any real harm, annoying and bothersome as she was. For a fleeting moment, he naively hoped that the worst was over and things would be slowly settling themselves back into proper order. But the second he held her he knew that something was wrong, horribly wrong, and that the nightmare was far from over. She was inhumanly cold, like a statue of marble, her hair streaked with white.  
"You're so cold!" He couldn't help stating the obvious as she stumbled against him. A part of him faintly hoped she would reply that she had simply been out too long, had frozen herself, would give some explanation - but instead, she grabbed his lapels, enthusiastically demanding a kiss.

He was completely dumbfounded. A _kiss_? Their first kiss? At a moment like this, with her kingdom dying, her people suffering and the crown in the middle of its greatest crisis, with her sister essentially doomed to death because of her utter lack of discretion, she chose to indulge in her little romantic whimsies? In front of everyone? Shocked and embarrassed, he shot a bewildered look at the head housekeeper. Her faint knowing smile fanned his burning embarrassment into fierce indignation and anger. _My God, she really has no sense of decency at all._ He could barely keep his expression in check and couldn't help recoiling slightly from her. "Slow down," he ventured, only to have her brazenly attempt to jump up to try to reach his face in an extremely un-princesslike manner. Hans almost couldn't believe it. Did she have a secret perversion for shamefully embarrassing public displays, for heaven's sake? He had to struggle to keep his composure, but the routine of keeping up a pleasant front he'd developed through the years of hiding his true emotions won. Despite the waves of anger crashing violently inside him, he even managed to squeeze out a smile of thanks he hoped looked genuine when the head housekeeper ushered everyone out of the room in order to "give them some privacy". Privacy! He vaguely felt like slapping her, but pushed the buzzing swarm of anger back and demanded an explanation instead, fighting to keep his tone worriedly intense and not enraged and impatient. He had to remember to appear loving, loving and adoring, they weren't married yet, he couldn't afford to push her away now.  
Her answer gripped his heart with cold, sharp claws.

"Elsa struck me with her powers," she whimpered, looking like a lost child begging for comforting. His head was reeling. _Elsa? She would purposefully strike her own family?_ A vision of the Queen flashed in his mind, the open fear in her face when she'd worried of being a danger to her kingdom, the distress when she heard her sister was missing. He didn't want to believe it.  
"You said she'd never hurt you," he desperately burst out.  
"I was wrong," Anna said, and crumpled to the floor under the effect of her sister's wrath, as if to underline her fatal error.  
He scooped her up and carried her to the sofa, worry and fear dancing inside him. It felt like carrying a corpse, he could feel the unnatural cold seeping through her clothes. He laid her down as gently as he could, remembering the ferocious attack the Queen had inflicted on the duke's men. Had Elsa taken her revenge on Anna, a brutal retaliation for ruining everything for her at her brightest moment, forcing her to reveal herself and flee alone in disgrace, for forever destroying her chance to rule peacefully? Was the gentle vulnerability just another fake front, masking a ruthless, vengeful, cold heart? Capable of any atrocity, even murdering her last family member in cold blood? Anna shuddered in what seemed to be great pain.  
"She froze my heart and - and only an act of true love can save me," she said in a shaky, small voice, looking at him with pleading eyes. _True love? So that's why she was so adamant about the kiss._ He stared at her, his anger giving way to pity as the terrifying realisation set in. _She is already as good as dead._ She'd come to him for her rescue, believing in his ardent expressions of affection, but it was in vain. He simply didn't have the power to help her. Hans didn't truly love her, far from it, he could barely stand her. He felt himself despise her more and more with each moment, with each new blatant display of her complete gracelessness. And apparently, her sister had no love for her, either. Hans felt vaguely sad and frustratingly helpless.

"A true love's kiss," he said slowly, taking in the trust and faith in Anna's eyes. _She thinks I'll fix it all for her_, he thought. _She's gone and doomed first her sister, then her people and finally herself with her thoughtlessness and now she's brought the whole mess to me, expecting that I'll make it all better with one magical kiss._ But he couldn't. Hans was no fairytale prince, this was real life, and like most royal matches theirs too would have been a union of practicality and convenience. She really ought to have known better, but she was spoiled and self-centered and believed the world would always bend to accomodate her no matter what she did, he thought with wistful sadness. Now her blind faith in her charmed life had doomed her.  
He cupped her face gently, smiling as tenderly as he could. He would give her the "true love's kiss", her first and last. When it wouldn't work, he would hold her hand appearing utterly heartbroken and desperate through the last moments of her life. It would be quite a short while, by the look of it. He would beg her for the honour of becoming her husband for even a few precious moments, and they would whisper their marriage wows with tears in their eyes. After her inevitable death, he would present himself as the appropriately desolate widower of the late Princess Regent, thus the strongest claimant to the throne, as the Queen was clearly ineligible for ruling. In fact, Elsa had committed treason, first cursing the land and then murdering the ascendant ruler, her own sister. She would be declared a traitor and a murderer, sentenced to death and executed swiftly, the accursed winter would melt away and he would be crowned as the saviour of the land. He leaned in to kiss her, closing his eyes.

_What's the point of this charade?_ The voice was faint but sharp. Why was he still holding on to the pretense of love, all the way till death? He was lying for her sake, to make her last moments as comfortable as was possible. But did she really deserve the kindness of the lie? All of his annoyance at her surged back into the surface, and all of his repressed frustration and anger with it. He paused.  
Why should she be allowed to dance through life, never taking any responsibility or facing any consequence of her actions? Hans had done all he could to be the prince of her dreams, suffering through her inelegant silliness with a smile, playing along with her whims. He had taken care of her kingdom for her when she'd first driven her sister off and then wildly chased after her without a thought for their subjects. When she'd gone missing (as he'd feared she would), complicating things further, he'd nearly lost his life trying to find and rescue her. He'd overpowered both the Queen and her snow monster and brought her back while Anna had been traipsing Lord knows where. He'd tried to do his best and fix everything, but he couldn't do miracles. Hans was tired, tired of trying to clean the messes her recklessness caused, for her and her kingdom and everyone around her. Why shouldn't she finally face reality, the repercussions of her deeds? The bitterness and resentment in him had grown to a dark, boiling maelstrom, and he felt it pulling, sucking him in.  
Besides, when else would he ever have the opportunity to be honest with anyone and let his real feelings be heard? Truly, he was sick of pretending. This was his chance of letting go of the front, the smile, possibly the only chance of speaking his true mind. It was tempting, so tempting, he could feel the words at the tip of his tongue. She would die soon and take his confession with her. The pull came over him again, and this time, for the first time in years, he didn't fight it.

"Oh Anna. If only there was someone out there who loved you," he said softly, pulling back. She had been expecting his kiss with her eyes closed and lips poised, and his words caught her completely by surprise; she didn't seem to understand what had just happened. It was exhilarating, coming clean, and he couldn't help but smile. He got up and walked to the window. He heard her call hesitantly after him, reminding him of the professions of love he'd made to her.  
_Is she honestly so hopelessly naive?_ How could she not have understood that as the princess of Arendelle, her hand in marriage was worth a great deal, and that most potential suitors would in fact be pursuing the status and power available through her, rather than her as a woman? Astoundingly, she seemed to be so sheltered and spoiled that she assumed that everyone expressing romantic interest in her would naturally be completely sincere, intrigued only by her personal charms, and most laughably of all would surely never lie about the depth of their affection in order to secure the match. Unbelievable.

Practically all royal marriages were matches of convenience and suitability, where princes and princesses were shipped about the world as pawns in a game of alliances. Some lucky few managed to fall in mutual love or at least mutual compatibility with their assigned spouses, but most existed in a state of polite indifference, both parties enjoying their own private little indiscretions. What on earth gave Anna the idea that she would be special and different and would have the amazing fortune of forming a match of true love? Just like that, with the first man she happens to meet? She was so like his elder brothers, he thought scathingly, taking their blessed situation in life completely for granted and assuming that the world owed them happiness and success in everything simply because they existed. It was high time someone opened her eyes to real life.

The rush of finally speaking out made him almost light-headed. _Now it's out. Too late to turn back._ He looked in the eyes of his reflection in the window. _How far can I take it? How much salt to rub in the wounds?_ Who knew, maybe her death would come swifter should her heart break in addition to being frozen. Wouldn't that be a kindness of sorts, to end her suffering sooner? He decided to tell her everything, to show her the real way things were in the world, if perhaps slightly exaggerated to emphasise the point. He had learned the hard way, and so would she.

"I was thirteenth in line in my own kingdom. I didn't stand a chance, I knew I'd have to marry into the throne somewhere," he started calmly, closing the curtains.  
"Wha- what are you talking about?" He could hear the fear creeping into Anna's voice as the shadow engulfed her.  
"As heir, Elsa was preferable, of course, but no-one was getting anywhere with her," he continued in the same nonchalant tone, snuffing out the candle as he walked by. "But _you_," he grinned at her, now alert and afraid as she tried to stop his words by calling his name, "you were so desperate for love you were willing to marry me just like _that_!" He took the pitcher on the side-table and walked to the fireplace, gently shaking his head at her stupidity. Really, it was long due someone told her off.  
He decided to add a pinch of salt to the wound, just for the heck of it.

"I figured that after we'd married, I'd have to stage a little accident for Elsa," he stated with a dramatic face for emphasis, turning to look at the effect his words had on her. _Do you see it now, what an idiot you've been?_ She called his name again, begging him to stop, and reached for him so desperately she tumbled off the sofa. He carefully doused the fire and continued, "But then she doomed herself, and you were dumb enough to go after her." The darkened room started to cool almost instantly, undoubtedly due to the Queen being held at the lower levels. He shook out the last droplets from the pitcher and set it back, chuckling. Indeed, both sisters had blundered spectacularly as soon as they came into power. It would have been vastly amusing to behold had the effects been less dire. Again, she pleaded with him to stop, as if not saying unpleasant things out loud would make them not true. Unwilling to face reality to the last.  
Hans smiled at her, lying on the floor, and finally stated the obvious in a gentle, almost tender tone. "All that's left now is to kill Elsa" - she winced - "and bring back summer." He squatted down by her side as Anna gathered her remaining strength behind an attempt at defiance.

"You're no match for Elsa," she spat, scowling. _Does she still think Elsa should live, even after she's struck her through the heart, even when the price of her life is the doom of the kingdom? Doesn't she see her death is the only way to save this land?_ Silly, silly girl. He grabbed her chin, more harshly this time, and forced her to look at him.  
"No. _You're_ no match for Elsa," he stated flatly, allowing his contempt for her to show in his face. "I, on the other hand," he went on, standing up, "am the hero who is going to save Arendelle from destruction." Did she finally see? Did she finally understand? He doubted it, but there wasn't much more to be done here. Time was of the essence now, and it was pointless to stay and watch her die while precious moments flew by. The thought of smothering her with a pillow fluttered through his mind, just to be sure, but he dismissed it instantly. He would not get involved in her death and resort to murder. Surely, she could manage to die on her own.  
He was on his way out when she threw one last pointless, empty threat after him.  
"You won't get away with this!" Her voice was hoarse and soft now. Death would claim her soon.  
"Awww," he said, giving his fiancée one last amused look._ She really is a bit simple, isn't she. Such a shame, she might have made a lovely wife if things were different._ "I already have." Hans locked the door behind him.

On his way to the dining hall, he tried to summon up the suitable level of grief surely expected of a man in his situation. Heartbroken but determined to do his duty, that was it. If ever he'd needed the ability to be convincing, it was now, although he didn't think the dignitaries would be too suspicious. It had been clear to everyone who wasn't blind, deaf and dumb that the princess was in an exceptionally bad condition. An unpleasant tinge of something like regret flickered in his mind. _Wasn't that a bit much? Treating a dying girl with cruelty and ridicule?_ It was slightly low, and more familiar than he cared to admit, in fact. Hadn't he been treated the same way by his brothers? _We really are chips of the same block, all of us._ That thought made him uncomfortable, but there was nothing to be done about that anymore. _There you go again, getting all soft and sentimental like a girl. She would have died no matter what I did. And she deserved it._ What's done is done. He needed to focus on the present. He felt the thrill of tension and adrenaline course through his body. His heart was beating fast. This was it, there was no way back. The only way was forward. Get it over with, no more hesitation. _Seize it, Hans._

He staggered slowly into the hall with the best impression of a man distracted with grief he could manage and informed them - with a shaky voice, he thought that was a nice touch - that the princess was dead. The diplomats gathered around him, exclaiming in shock. The Duke of Weselton even helped him down to a chair, sympathetic for once. Hans drew a deep breath.  
"She was killed," he hesitated for a heartbeat before naming her, "by Queen Elsa." The men around him gasped in horror.  
"Her own sister," the Duke muttered. _And now, the important part._  
"At least we got to say our marriage wows," he paused for effect, trying to look desolate. "Before she died in my arms," he uttered with a breaking voice, bowing his head in an imitation of grief. _Do they buy it?_ He didn't dare to look up.  
"There can be no doubt now." The Duke's voice was somber and grim. "Queen Elsa is a monster, and we are all in grave danger." _Yes._  
"Prince Hans," implored the Umbirian _conte_, d'Uffigiano, that was his name. "Arendelle looks to you." They'd bought it and swallowed it whole. And like before, they preferred him to take command, to tell them what to do. A sense of thrilling relief washed over him. So close, he was so close.

"With a heavy heart," he began slowly as if deliberating every word, "I charge Queen Elsa of Arendelle with treason and sentence her to death." His words seemed to echo ominously in the dimness. His mouth felt dry. The dignitaries looked at him with the solemn, fateful look of officers about to enter into battle. _It's done. The only way is forward._

When they went to seize the Queen from her cell, they found the door frozen shut. The delay made him impatient and nervous. Although the Queen deserved a dignified, clean death as befit a monarch, he wanted to get the whole damn business over with as quickly as possible, before something unexpected happened again. Or before he had a chance to hesitate in front of her distress. _Stop it, you damned gallant idiot. She's tricked you with her looks of vulnerability, charmed you with her magic. It's a trick. She's taken you for a ride. Think of Anna's death. Think of the men she nearly murdered at the castle. Think of Arendelle._ He could not, would not hesitate, he had to be sure. He would be sure. But when they breached the door, all that was waiting for them was an empty cell with a gaping hole on the side. The makeshift hand chains hadn't contained her powers, then. He felt humiliated, outsmarted by his opponent, and felt his anger and the familiar stirrings of battle-thirst wash the last of his doubts away. Vulnerable and distressed, indeed. Did she think she could escape from him? Play him for a fool? He turned and ran back in, shouting for his greatcoat and sword. He'd finish the witch off himself, damn it.

Once outside and armed, he assumed the Queen would try for the same route she'd escaped last time, straight across the fjord. The storm seemed to be thickest in the middle of the fjord, and he was sure he'd find the thrice-damned sorceress right at the heart of it. The violent, unnatural blizzard made it near-impossible to see, but he pushed in it anyway, trying to advance in a straight line, slower than he'd liked but steadily enough. The world vanished around him and his senses became useless in the whipping, tearing whiteness and the deafening roar of the wind. For a while, he thought that he had lost himself in the emptiness and almost felt terror rise in him, but he kept pushing on against the wind, deeper into the heart of the storm. He had to keep going. He had to keep strong, he was so close. _End this nightmare, end this winter. Don't let her escape._ And sure enough, he glimpsed her form through the blizzard and headed towards her. She seemed lost and unsure of the way, too, but tried to run when she saw him. He called her name, hoping to subdue her through reason as he'd done before.  
"You can't run from this!" he implored. Hearing her name, she turned and faced him, her face an image of desperation.  
"Just take care of my sister!" She shouted back, her voice cracking with a sob. She started to back away from him, her whole being signaling fear and terror.  
"Your sister?" Hans was confused. _Is this another trick? She cursed Anna herself!_ He sensed a chance. It was worth a try, anyway. "She returned from the mountain weak and cold! She said that _you_ froze her heart!" he shouted through the howling winds, trying for an accusing tone. Elsa seemed astonished and alarmed at his words. So his hunch was right. He kept at it, playing the desperate, heartbroken lover. "I tried to save her, but it was too late! Her skin was ice, her hair turned white!" The snow queen stared at him, stunned at his words, her eyes wide with horror and disbelief. The winds seemed to grow even stronger, and the ice boomed beneath his feet. Hans went in for the final blow.  
"Your sister is _dead!_ Because of _you!_" he bellowed into the storm. The accusing words seemed to hit her like a blow. The sorceress reeled in shock and collapsed on the ice with a moan of grief. As she succumbed, the storm around her seemed to freeze in time, the unnatural stillness spreading like the ripples on the surface of a lake, the air freezing with an otherworldly sound. It was unquestionably the work of true wickedness. Hans drew his sword. _This is your moment. Seize it. Be the hero._ All that stood between him and the throne, a place of his own, would be cut down with one strike of his sword. He gripped the handle tighter. The first blow would have to do it, he couldn't give her a chance to retaliate. _One strike, strong and true. Do it._ The witch seemed oblivious to the outside world, collapsed and lost in her regret. Hans steeled his mind and took aim. _Now. Now!_ He raised his sword and struck down, as hard as he could.

.

.

.


	2. where a queen makes three offers

Oh jaysus, finally!  
I apologize it took so incredibly long, but there were some broken bones and a trip abroad and work and all that. It was also a surprisingly hard to get Elsa right - she was a bit too feisty in the first attempt, and it didn't feel right.  
But really, I need to learn to write shorter chapters and post them faster. Thank you for your patience! The full chapter and the third offer finally posted, 16 000+ words, yikes! I've also changed "France" to Galterre (and "Italy" to Umbiria, though it's not mentioned in this chapter). First chapter has been edited to reflect this.

II

_where a queen makes three offers_

The stitches kept getting uneven. Elsa sat in a comfortable nook by the window in her chambers, trying to focus on the elaborate embroidery work in her hands in order to calm down, but her mind kept wandering off and twisting into nervous knots, and she kept botching it up. She sighed deeply while she pulled on the thread, undoing yet another mistake. She wished she could untangle her thoughts the same way. Usually, focusing on the meticulous needlework calmed her more effectively than anything else. It transported her mind away from the painful and frightening thoughts swirling in her head and offered a welcome respite from all the dangerous feelings she tried to control and extinguish. She could lose herself in the pleasantly meditative repetitiveness for hours on end, and got a deep sense of satisfaction from seeing the complex patterns slowly take shape through her efforts, stitch by stitch.

During her years of solitude, she'd come to love embroidery like a trustful friend she could rely on. This time, however, the current situation was simply too much, and not even needlework could offer her relief. The dread was festering inside her, the nauseating mix of fear, failure and inadequacy throbbing in her belly and whispering in her ear. _I should be focusing on the realm. I should be setting things right and ruling my country like a true queen._ But she just didn't know what to do, didn't know where to start. It was a horrible mess.

At least her secret was out. She didn't need to worry about that any more.

It was difficult to comprehend. She had spent most of her life consumed with shame, desperation and fear, certain that should anyone find out about her, she would become a hated outcast, hunted and feared. Her fears had almost come true, too. At her coronation, when she'd finally had to emerge out of her protective solitude and take the throne, the nightmares she'd had for weeks leading up to the event had horrifyingly become reality. She'd argued with Anna, and the public shame had been too much. Her power had broken out in the middle of the coronation ball with such force that there was no hope of concealment. She'd thought she would die on the spot with the sheer horror of it all. Elsa shivered at the memory. She could still feel the paralyzing terror, the unreal, desperately choking feeling when her mind had reluctantly accepted that it wasn't a nightmare, that it was actually happening. She opened her eyes to look at the fjord, trying to calm herself. The window was covered in thick frost and sharp, angrily jagged crystals of ice had formed where she'd gripped the windowsill. _I still can't control it._ The intensity of the memory still triggered her fear, still made her emotions manifest through her power.

She'd ran away in a blind panic like a frightened hare. She'd thought she could live in isolation at the mountains, naively hoping that maybe they'd leave her alone, but her overwhelming fear had been so strong it had completely frozen the land. Her distress had been too deep, and the snowbanks hadn't melted even during her absence. They'd come after her, first Anna, then Prince Hans and his men, trying to persuade her to reverse everything, to stop the winter for the sake of the realm. She couldn't do what they asked. She couldn't control her powers and had been unable to come up with any solution to the disaster ravaging her country. _My disaster. Me. I was the disaster._  
She had utterly failed everyone. Her people, her father, her sister, herself. Hearing about the true extent of the catastrophe had plunged her deeper into the dark depths of paralyzing terror, making everything worse. She sighed again. She had been completely helpless and useless. _All those years of practicing, all in vain._ Everything had spiraled out of hand and things had kept getting worse than she'd ever thought possible, and then even worse still. She'd almost killed Anna, the person she held dearest in the world, after accidentally striking her in the heart with her powers. Accidentally! The thought was still almost too painful to bear. Elsa had been like a living, walking curse, destroying everything in her vicinity. _Isn't that what I still am? Has anything changed?_

However, a miracle had happened. Prince Hans of the Southern Isles, Anna's charming fiancé who'd turned out to be a blackguard and a traitor, had tried to kill her in order to claim the throne for himself. _And maybe to destroy my curse by destroying me_, a faint thought whispered in her head, but she angrily pushed it away. When Anna had gone to her groom for an act of true love to save her life, he'd cruelly left her to die alone and had exploited the crisis for his own benefit instead. He had convinced the other dignitaries that Anna was dead, that they'd married before her death thus giving him a claim to the throne, assumed power and sentenced Elsa herself to death for treason and cursing the land. It was incredibly wicked. Elsa ground her teeth together, black bitterness hissing somewhere within her. To be honest, the attempted coup infuriated her far less than the emotional torment that vile crook had put them both through. She remembered the incredible anguish she'd felt when he'd lied to her that Anna was dead, that it was all her fault. The despair had crashed upon her like a black wave, never before in her life had she felt such all-drowning pain. She'd wanted to die, wanted to never have been born. She almost _had_ died at that moment, when Prince Hans had taken advantage of her paralyzing grief and had tried to strike her dead.

With incredible coincidence, Anna had been close by, at deaths door but still alive, and had thrown herself in front of his sword in order to save Elsa as her last deed. The curse had claimed her at the same moment, turning her into ice, and Hans' sword had collided with a blast of magic instead of flesh, the impact knocking him unconscious. It was an absolutely unreal stroke of blind luck that Anna's selfless sacrifice had been the act of love required to thaw her heart, so powerful that it even brought her back to life. The memory of seeing Anna as a statue of ice, clear as crystal and dead, was harrowing. The crushing guilt was whispering in her ear again, and Elsa hugged herself. It had been a close call, too close, and entirely up to chance. She thought bemusedly she would probably have terrible luck with smaller things, like finding socks, for the rest of her life, having used all of her good fortune up in this one moment. The intensity of the emotion made the air around her colder. She suddenly realised that she could see her breath and that frost was creeping up the wall from where her back touched it in sharp, painful formations. She felt frustrated and nervous.

They'd been able to reverse the disaster, but the root of the problem - herself - hadn't gone anywhere. Her power was still there, still not entirely under her control. She'd finally learned to thaw what she froze, and that was a great gift in itself - but she was still at the mercy of her own erratic emotions. When she was calm and in control of herself, she could control the frost, too, but she dreaded what might happen should she plunge into the depth of despair again. Elsa buried her face in her hands and groaned. The problem with fear, she thought desperately, was that it had a nasty habit of strengthening itself. When she would realise that she was afraid, she started to fear the fear itself. That led to more fear, and thus more fear of fear, and so on. The faint, ominous sense of threat and disaster kept following her around, creeping around her like a shadow. All that was needed to set the whole triple-cursed vicious circle off was a hefty stroke of bad luck, something to unsettle her, to make her nervous and afraid. And she had plenty of reasons for nervousness and fear.

The Queen glanced longingly at her bed. She felt like crawling in under the covers, hiding from the world in a tight ball of blankets, closing her mind and refusing to deal with anything, like a petulant child. It was impossible, of course, but the idea had a certain appeal. She sighed. She was a queen now, and queens did not hide from unpleasant and miserable things. _Be the good girl, Elsa, she thought. Be a good queen. Be strong. There's no choice._ She got up and went to put the embroidery away.

She really wished Anna was there with her. It was truly wonderful to know her again, to be able to feel like she had a family, like she was accepted and loved, like there was someone she could bond with and confide in. She felt like she was emerging from the darkness, from the long winter of loneliness and fear into the first hopeful rays of honesty and acceptance._ Love and happiness, too, maybe, eventually?_  
However, after over a decade of distance, the newly formed connection was still fresh and tender, delicate like new leaves in springtime. It needed to be nurtured further in order to become a truly strong sisterly relationship, but as it was now, she was afraid to test its strength. Elsa sighed as she sorted the embroidery threads in her craft chest. She was yet hesitant to truly be honest with Anna, afraid to reveal all her misgivings, fears and grievances. When Anna had told her she was planning to go tour the north with her newly found suitor, Kristoff, Elsa had just smiled and wished her a happy journey. _Don't go_, she'd wanted to say, _I need you here by my side. I'm afraid, Anna, afraid to rule alone, afraid of the people, afraid of the newness of it all. I can't face it alone._ But she'd stayed silent. She closed the chest and stared at the Arendelle emblem elaborately painted on the lid, deep in thought.

What's more, Anna had only known this Kristoff for a few days at best. Her last whirlwind romance with the dashing Prince of the Southern Isles had ended in complete disaster, but she seemingly hadn't learnt much from it. It was true that the ice harvester seemed to be a good man of solid character, very pleasant though a little gruff, very handsome, and very enamored of Anna. But Prince Hans had also seemed to be an exceptionally strapping and capable man madly in love with her, and look at how _that_ turned out. Elsa was also slightly apprehensive of how it all looked to the outside world. Anna had formed a public engagement with a man she'd just met the same day, left said man in charge of Arendelle as her fiancé, returned a couple of days later with a completely new paramour - a common worker, too - who she had been kissing in the middle of the town square while the first fiancé was locked in a cell, and who she had now gone off with for weeks. Alone and completely unchaperoned. It was effectively an engagement. _An engagement or a scandal. Or maybe both._ She wandered to the front room, viewing her kingdom through the balcony doors.

Anna was a princess of Arendelle, and royal marriages were more than just unions of people, they were alliances of influential families, nations even. Usually they were arranged very carefully, taking into consideration both the interests of the realms as well as the personal feelings of the people in question. Elsa would have liked to have more time to plan Anna's marriage with her, more time to find a suitable match, more time to deliberate over who to choose and what the implications of each choice were. But that had all gone out of the window. The two split-second engagements within such a short time, one to a traitor, the other to a labourer, had undoubtedly greatly damaged Anna's marriageability.  
In the eyes of society, being engaged was practically the same as being already married, Elsa understood. She was worried about the gossip and Anna's reputation. She suspected that they would have significant trouble finding another noble-born suitor for Anna, should she end up with a past of two failed hasty engagements. And if the gossip would get out of hand, it might tarnish the reputation of the entire royal family of Arendelle. Elsa sighed again. She had no choice but to hope with all her heart that it was really true love this time, that this Kristoff was genuinely a good man and that Anna would marry him. _And be truly happy with him, heaven willing. Please, please, let her find happiness with him. _ Elsa gazed out through the window, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of the high peaks. They were in there, somewhere, on their own private adventure.

If their relationship had been stronger, Elsa might have tried to reason with Anna or even forbidden her from attaching herself so publicly to yet another man she had just met, but the last time she had tried to protect Anna and her reputation had ended in a horrible disaster, and she did not dare to rock the boat again. She was hesitant to upset Anna and question her judgement so soon after everything had been finally sorted out between them. She desperately needed Anna's support and friendship, she could not bear another argument. And besides, Kristoff had played a big part in solving the crisis, it was really quite heroic. Without him, Anna might very well have died on the mountain. So Elsa had kept her mouth shut and simply granted him a position as the royal Arendelle Ice Master and Deliverer, both to thank him for his help and to make him slightly more suitable for a royal match. She had tried her best to conceal her unease and had smiled and told them that she was incredibly happy for them and kissed them goodbye and waved after them. Her heart had ached when she'd watched them disappear over the hill. The princess was gone, and the queen was left to rule alone. It was daunting.

Together with Anna, they'd been able to thaw the ice and calm the population. Anna was so incredibly energetic and optimistic it was enviable. Her excitement and bullheadedly determined cheer had won everyone over, and she'd convinced the people that their queen was not an evil sorceress hell-bent on causing ruin and destruction after all, but that the whole thing had been a dreadful, unfortunate mistake. Elsa had expressed her most sincere regrets, and they'd forgiven her, incredibly enough. Anna had suggested Elsa show the people what she herself had seen, that her power could be the source of fun and beauty as well as destruction, to give them some positive experiences with their new monarch. To replace the fear with happiness. She'd obliged, and that seemed to have gone over well, although she had been very nervous about using her powers in public. But as amazing as it was, everyone now knew about her affliction, and no-one was coming after her with torches and pitchforks. No, they had accepted her as their queen.

_Accepted, but how willingly and for how long?_ She knew that the people harboured some sort of suspicion or unease about her, at least some of them. _Most of them, more like._ She was something that should be impossible. Magic wasn't supposed to exist, not so tangibly, even though everybody knew of the folk tales and some people still left food out for the _tomtes_ and the gnomes. But a monarch with undeniable magical powers was different, something completely unheard of, and new things tended to make people nervous and afraid. Especially when they'd had such extremely negative first-hand experiences of her. And when the people started to fear their ruler, the threat of a revolution became a distinct possibility.

It was a problem, she felt, made all the worse due to her newness, her unfamiliarity with the people. They had dearly loved her father, the late king Agdar IV, and were ready to love her, too - or had been, before the false winter, when she'd been assumed normal. And they would have loved her even more readily had they been more accustomed to her, had her person been more solidly associated with a prosperous and just rule in their minds. _That_ thought carried a load of guilt with it.

Unfortunately, she had spent most of her life isolated inside her rooms, desperately trying to learn to control the frost, and the people were not at all familiar with her. After the death of her parents, she really should have started to show herself in official capacity, taking on more responsibility and performing some royal duties, in order to give the people a sense of continuation of the rule, to show that the family remained in power. The King is dead, long live the Queen, and all that. But she had been too weak, too afraid, too desolate after her dear parents had both been taken from her in one blow. She'd been left utterly on her own with her horrible secret, and she'd failed under the weight of the responsibility. The throne had sat empty for nearly three years, leaving a vacuum of power. Without clear direction and authority, the realm had entered a period of hibernation of sorts, turning inwards and limiting it's contact with the outside world, waiting for the new ruler to emerge and take the reins._ I should have done my duty then, but I hid like a pathetic weakling._

Elsa had felt so sickeningly _alone_. It had taken months for the icy traces of her grief on the walls to disappear even momentarily, and all notions of leaving her room had been dismissed. She hadn't even been able to attend her own parents' funeral. Even the small comfort of paying her last respects was denied her. It still hurt. It had also been extremely alarming to see just how strong her power had got and how little she was able to control it, and that had made her even more reluctant to risk venturing out. When she'd finally gotten herself under some semblance of control, she'd already grown accustomed to the solitude, the comforting bubble of isolation, and the thought of leaving her room and exposing herself to the world had been too frightening. She'd kept postponing it, making flimsy excuses she knew to be false and loathing herself for her weakness. _Not today, I feel nervous, I might accidentally lose control. Not today, I don't feel confident enough, better not to risk it._ Of course, Elsa had practiced by sneaking around the castle at night, just to be outside of her rooms and to remain familiar with the castle, _her_ castle. She'd read endless heaps of books. In a desperate attempt to prepare herself for her inevitably approaching reign, she had polished her manners and knowledge of etiquette to perfection. Perhaps, if she learned all of the mundane minutiae of decorum, she could distract herself with the details of protocol and build up a front of formality. Perhaps she could survive through the unavoidable public appearances hiding behind an armour of etiquette. It was a slim chance, but it was all she'd had.

She had viewed her reign with trepidation and almost superstitious aversion, like an impenetrable cloud of doom and darkness in the horizon, advancing on her with the all the weight and inevitability of death. Occasionally, she'd tried to think about what her life would be like after she came of age, but had seen mainly shadows. Everything had kept freezing at her touch, the frost had just kept getting worse and worse no matter what she tried. A nauseating hunch of inevitable failure had kept pestering her, whispering in her ear that there was no point, that she could only hope to keep up the pretense for a few months at most and then all would be lost, but she had tried to shut it out. She'd had to try. There was no alternative.

Sometimes, at night, she heard the distant, inviting whisper of death, enticing her with another way out, but she firmly refused to listen to the call. She was the crown princess, and she would not run from her duty. She was her father's daughter, the blood of kings, the successor of Arendelle's long royal line, and she would rule or perish in the attempt. It was her part in life and that was that.

Even more intimidating, however, was the obligatory continuation of the royal line. As queen and a woman of age, she would certainly be expected to marry and produce a heir to the throne relatively soon. A monarch without an heir - let alone without even a spouse to try to produce an heir with - was generally considered unsteady and vaguely inappropriate. Doubly so, when the monarch was a solitary woman. No, Elsa would be expected to marry, and sooner better than later. But how could she, when her very touch might prove fatal for her future husband?  
She knew that historically, some queens had reigned in their own right, alone, but they had all faced formidable opposition and prejudice and had had to overpower attempts to displace them with great cunning and displays of brute political force. She very much doubted she had that sort of capability, though leaving the duty of producing the royal progeny to Anna seemed like the best option.

The whole mess petrified her with fear, and she had avoided thinking about it as much as possible. _That was weak of me, too_, she chastised herself. _Unpleasant things don't disappear if you refuse to look at them because you're afraid, they just gain more power over you._ But she hadn't had the courage to properly face her reign and think it through, and time had continued its merciless passage no matter how hard she'd wished the day would never come.

On her first day of public life, when she should have finally begun acquainting herself with her subjects, she'd ruined everything. Her subjects' first impression of her had been one of terror, destruction and supernatural wickedness. Her reign, so far, had been a plight to the realm._ I am such a failure._ Elsa faintly felt like crying. _Queens don't cry. Don't feel it. Face what you've done._ She looked at Arendelle, let her gaze sweep across the buildings and the bustle of people in the square.

The false winter had done considerable damage. A significant part of the crops had died under the snow and some buildings had been damaged, too. The deep freeze had unsettled the ground and several houses near the royal castle had to be repaired. Thank God, no lives had been lost. The houses had been prepared for summer and hadn't offered the same protection against the cold they normally would, but thanks to the efficient arrangements for evacuation and temporary insulation, no-one had succumbed to the cold and fallen into eternal sleep. Everyone had woken up into the new dawn.  
She frowned slightly. That was part of the problem. The efficient emergency measures had been absolutely vital to Arendelle, keeping the disaster on the right side of the thin but crucial line between deeply uncomfortable and devastatingly fatal. But the man she had to thank for guarding the welfare and life of her subjects through the crisis was also the man accused of treason, the same man who had horribly mistreated her dear sister and even tried to kill herself in order to usurp the throne. Prince Hans of the Southern Isles.

Elsa groaned and closed her eyes. After the thaw, when things had calmed down a little, Anna had been nearly beside herself with anger, deeply humiliated and hurt. She'd believed she'd found true love with the Prince and had opened her heart to him, and his treacherous deception had cut her deep. According to Anna, her former fiancé had cruelly refused to help her when she'd begged him to save her life. Instead, he had apparently mocked her and delighted in her doom, declared he'd only pursued her for the throne and did not personally care a fig for her, luxuriated in his plans to murder the queen and seize the throne for himself, cackled evilly and locked Anna in to die alone. She'd vehemently insisted that he was the wickedest, most heinous creature on earth and that there should be some kind of very harsh punishment. Elsa had gently reminded her that Prince Hans, despite his dastardly actions, was still a member of the prestigious royal family of the Kingdom of the Southern Isles. Hasty actions regarding him might result with severe diplomatic repercussions, even war.

The Southern Isles were a significant power, exerting great influence over trade and politics in the surrounding areas. Despite their relatively modest land mass consisting of islands of various sizes, their navy was renowned and notoriously efficient in battle. They controlled and taxed nearly all trade passing between their islands, which was almost all of the trade in the Grey Sea - and that was a lot. As a result, the country as well as their royal family were very wealthy, powerful, old and proud, very aware of their influence and prestige, and very, very sensitive to slights. Sentencing one of their royal princes to prison or death would be a severe breach of diplomatic immunity and a direct offense to them and their status, and they would be sure to retaliate, quite possibly with military force. Arendelle was a small kingdom, much poorer, and Elsa dared not risk any enmity with one of their most powerful neighbours. It frustrated Anna, but it couldn't be helped.

Arendelle's diplomatic affairs were in poor shape as a result of the secluded three years they'd spent without an official monarch. The coronation had been an attempt to re-establish their standing and presence in the diplomatic stage, to strengthen the remaining ties they had with their allies and to possibly form new alliances. Of course, the whole frozen disaster had very nearly done the complete opposite. Her powers had broken out in front of all the diplomatic envoys of every ally they could hope to have. So much for a positive first impression and cordial relations! She'd almost frozen the ambassadors to death, for goodness' sake. Thankfully, all - well, almost all - of the emissaries had been understanding of the situation and had accepted her most profound apologies with smooth assurances of good will. _Or at least they pretended to do so to my face. Who knows what they really think of the sorceress queen of Arendelle._ She felt unease coiling inside her. They desperately needed good relations with their neighbours, especially now when it looked like they would need assistance from them in order to make it through the coming natural winter.

_I've truly caused a horrible mess,_ she thought. The simplest and easiest way to deal with the troublesome Prince Hans, then, would be to let his own family deal with him. Banish him back to his country with a report of what had happened and an official demand for just punishment as the royal family of the Southern Isles themselves saw fit. Anna agreed with the notion quite easily, she seemed to want Prince Hans out of Arendelle as soon as was possible. The ambassador of Galterre, the Duc du Fourberenard, had very gallantly offered to take him to the Southern Isles on his way back to his own country. It was a very easy and appealing option, and she'd almost taken it. _Almost_, she thought, her eyes flicking to a note lying on the side table in front of her father's portrait. _Almost, but not yet._

The thing was that the kingdom of Arendelle seemed to be indebted to the Prince.  
At first, Elsa had naturally assumed that the life-saving emergency measures were the handiwork of Anna, who had been the remaining member of the royal family after she'd fled into the night. She had meant to express her appreciation of Anna's surprisingly great presence of mind under fire, but Anna had sheepishly admitted that she had ridden after her almost immediately and had not had the time to really think of the realm. With a darkening look, she'd told her that she had left Prince Hans officially in charge, not yet understanding his true nature. Anna seemed to think it had been a terrible mistake, giving the scoundrel more influence and easing his plan to overthrow them, but for some reason, Elsa wasn't so sure. The doubt had nagged at her, and she'd seeked out Gerda, their long-serving head housekeeper, to find out how everything had actually happened. Perhaps the ideas had actually come from their trusted servants, and Prince Hans had simply taken the credit? After all, it was Kai, the royal butler, who had temporarily assumed the duties of a royal steward during the absence of a proper monarch.

At first, Gerda had indeed not given the prince any credit, humming and hawing and prattling about how he'd fooled them all with his smooth manners and friendly air and who'd have guessed that he was such a villainous traitor, trying to murder Her Majesty, oh my, so very shocking, thank goodness he hadn't succeeded. But when Elsa had pressed for a clear answer, she had caught a brief flicker of fear in Gerda's eyes. Gerda, her faithful, gentle Gerda, who had been with the family longer than she herself had lived, was afraid of her.  
_She fears that if her answer displeases me, I'll get upset and hurt her._ The realisation had filled her heart with a deep, heavy sadness. Gathering herself, she had flashed the gentlest smile she could, and assured her that she would not be angry, she was not going to blame anyone, she merely wanted to know _exactly_ what had happened in her absence. After all, she'd beamed, she meant to truly reign now, and good queens ought to know what happened to their people, no? Relaxing a little, Gerda had finally admitted that the smallness of the damages was entirely thanks to Prince Hans, and him alone. Without his efficient, organised and thoughtful leadership they would have been in much worse shape, and she did not doubt that lives would have been lost.  
Elsa had felt oddly uncomfortable at the disclosure. It complicated matters. _It would be simpler if he was just a cold-hearted villain. _ And it had gotten worse. Kai had informed her that the prince had spent some time at the state library, going through some documents before deciding what was to be done. Curious, Elsa had gone to see what the traitor had been up to, and what she'd seen had filled her with guilt and discomfort.

Prince Hans had apparently skimmed through the state bookkeeping of the last couple of years, trying to figure out the condition of Arendelle's affairs. On the library desk, among the books, Elsa had found a note the Prince had made for himself, detailing the measures he thought necessary and the current state of each of the factors he'd checked. It had been a chilling list for Elsa to read, full of important, crucial points marked down in a neat hand, half of which had not even occurred to her. Very evidently, Prince Hans had found Arendelle's affairs to be in poorer shape than expected, and Elsa had found herself agreeing with him. _He's a vile traitor, but he would be better at running my country than me,_ she had thought miserably.

She had kept the note and returned the books to their places. She'd even carried out some of his plans. She had instructed Kai to organise a carpenter team, funded with money from the crown, to efficiently carry out the repairs in a descending order of importance. She had also opened a trade deal proposal, offering exclusive trading rights for a year on one of their more desirable goods, fine frostfir timber, to whoever met the offer with a binding contract of delivering the required amount of foodstuffs, wool and fabrics (details to be agreed upon later depending on Arendelle's needs). Both endeavours had been successes, the carpenters evoking gratitude and appreciation among her people, the various ambassadors falling over each other in their rush to try to get her to accept their word as bind on behalf of their respective sovereigns. She'd been able to pick who she liked. It made her look good as a queen, judicious, clever and resolute. The envoys had praised her sound judgement, but the compliments had left a bitter taste in her mouth, only adding to her unease. _It's not my work at all, really. I wouldn't have thought of it on my own._

Sighing deep, she turned from the window and went to the table, studying the now-familiar note once more. _It is really a very nice note_, she thought absentmindedly. Prince Hans had a good and elegantly flowing hand, if a little impersonal. Clear, precise, well-rehearsed, everything that should be expected from a royal person._ He really appears to be he perfect prince in every aspect. Expect honour, goodness and honesty,_ she thought bitterly. She looked at the picture of her father, so determined and just in his portrait. _Oh, Pappa. What do I do with him?_ Her father would have known, she was sure. Her father had always seemed to know the answers, had always seen with clarity exactly what needed to be done. Elsa missed him so much it hurt, missed being able to rely on someone, missed having someone guide her on her way. The edges of the note started to stiffen with frost. She sighed again and set it back down.

The worst thing was that she was personally indebted to Prince Hans, too.

When Anna had been speaking to the people, persuading them into believing that Elsa was really good at heart, she had declared that the Queen had _never_ intentionally harmed anyone. Elsa hadn't been able to tell her that that was a lie. She recalled the _incident_ at her ice palace, when the Weselton men had tried to murder her and she'd been forced to defend her life with force. But it had gone beyond pure self-defence. The adrenaline, the rush of the battle had consumed her, and she had been a hairbreadth away from intentionally killing a man. The only reason she wasn't a murderer, she reluctantly admitted to herself, was again the involvement of Prince Hans. He had called out to her, and his words had broken through the intense rush pounding in her veins and her ears. _What did I almost become?_

It was distressing. Elsa walked to a full-length mirror and looked hard at herself, at the woman behind the glass. _Who are you?_ She pressed her forehead against her reflection, and the surface of the mirror clouded with frost, obscuring the woman on the other side. She had not found the courage to admit to Anna exactly how close she'd gotten to really being the monster the people had mistaken her for, and that weighed on her mind as well. She felt uncomfortable keeping things from Anna. She longed to be honest with someone, to be who she really was, horrifying weaknesses and all. _Well, at least I don't have to pretend to be normal any more,_ she thought, looking at the flowers of frost that had bloomed in the mirror. _That's already more than I ever dared hope. _

In the crowd, her eyes had met the gaze of one of the militiamen. While Anna had been describing with vivid detail how loving and gentle the queen was, he had looked at her with a weirdly apprehensive look, and Elsa had realised with a shock he must have been one of the men who had accompanied Prince Hans up the mountain - and witnessed the battle. _He knows what I'm really like_, she'd thought. _He's going to spread the word._ Anxious, she'd had the man in question brought to her for a private word, fervently hoping that she could explain herself, express her deep shame about her_ unfortunate_ reaction and persuade him to keep quiet about it. But when he'd come in, the man had been trembling with fear, white as a sheet. _Do they all fear me so much_, she'd despaired, trying to launch into her apology, but the militiaman had beat her to it.

"Your Majesty, spare me, I beg of you! We were so afraid, all of us, horribly afraid and confused, we didn't mean it, we didn't know, I didn't know, Your Majesty, I swear, I swear," he'd howled, throwing himself at her feet. Elsa had been struck dumb. _What is he talking about?_ She'd tried to ask for an explanation, but the man had been nearly sobbing with fear, and it had taken some effort to calm him. Finally, Elsa had managed to convince him that she didn't intend to turn him into an ice statue, and had been able to ask him what he had meant. When the militiaman - Arnesen, his name was, she reminded herself, he was the captain of the city guard, she ought to remember him - had realised Elsa wasn't aware of what had happened, he'd become very evasive. Despite her assurances that she wouldn't be angry and punish him no matter what he told her, he wouldn't explain himself. Elsa had nearly lost her patience and had almost ordered him to disclose everything at once, but had decided to try one last time with sweetness.

"At the mountain, we were all confused and afraid and did things we did not mean," she had cooed, the very picture of compassion and gentleness. "As I am grateful to my people for forgiving the mistakes I made, I also wish to exert the same forgiveness to those who have made mistakes against me." Blushing and muttering, Arnesen had finally told her that while she lay unconscious after the chandelier had fallen on her, the militiamen had nearly agreed to kill her, shaken by all that they had seen. When Elsa's face had gone blank at the realisation of just how afraid of her her own subjects were, he had burst into another stream of apologies. It had taken Elsa some more time to break through the flow.  
"I understand, I understand, it's regrettable but we were all afraid, calm down, please. _Calm yourself!_ " She'd hesitated, searching for the right words. "How, did - who all, precisely, wanted to, ah, kill me? The honest truth, now, please." Arnesen had looked at her desperately, his eyes filled with mute appeal. "I assure you I am not vengeful, I simply want to know," she'd coaxed in the gentlest voice she could manage, and he'd finally admitted with a small, trembling voice that they had all been unanimously of the same opinion. Only one man had been against killing her. The only man whose opinion really mattered, the man with the authority and the command. Prince Hans.

She'd managed to smile and thank Arnesen for his honesty and send him away through the haze of her reeling thoughts. _So I owe my own life to him, too. Who is this man?_

Anna had recounted to her with great detail the chilling plans Prince Hans had revealed to her whilst she lay dying. According to her, the scheming scoundrel had been positively glowing with evil mirth and had delighted in describing to her how he had planned to murder Elsa from the very start, plotting her death behind his smiles.  
It bothered Elsa. It didn't make sense. If he had wanted her dead, he could have just kept his mouth shut. He wouldn't even have needed to dirty his own hands. He would have been completely blameless regarding her death, a helpless foreigner facing the united will of the local majority. Instead, he had brought her back to Arendelle. She had awoken imprisoned but unharmed. She remembered him in the cell, pleading with her with apparent sincerity to stop the winter. Why did he do that? If he wanted her out of the way, why not convince the people that the only way to end the winter was to kill her? _They would have believed him, and with good reason_, she realised, chills racing across her skin. It was pure coincidence that she'd finally found out the way to thaw the frost. At some point, killing her may very well have seemed to be the only way to stop the winter.

In the end, he _had_ tried to kill her. Why not earlier, then? If he truly was so vicious as Anna claimed and had been actively scheming for her death, why was he so courteous with her in the dungeon? _Certainly not to please his darling fiancée by being nice to her imprisoned sister_, she thought dryly. She couldn't figure him out at all. She didn't know what to do about him. She called up his image, the pleasantly smiling, flawlessly polite, handsome young prince at the coronation at her sister's side. She remembered him out at the fjord, how sincerely heartbroken he had seemed when lying about Anna's death. It had not crossed her mind to doubt him, not even for a second. It was all a guise, apparently, and a good one. But who was the real man behind the perfect picture of a perfect prince? _Who are you? What are you really after?_ She looked at the note at the table again.

On one hand, Prince Hans had conspired abominably against the crown, attempted to kill the queen and treated Princess Anna in an extraordinarily vile manner, and thus ought to be tried in court for deceiving the crown as well as attempted murder and high treason. On the other hand, he had been an indispensable help to the realm in a time of crisis and had saved the Queen's life (_and the Queen's sense of self-worth_, she thought, remembering the battle), and had there been no charges against him, would have been due her great gratitude and some considerable accolades. So did the deeds cancel each other out? No, the attempted treason was too grave a matter to simply let slide. But his crucial efforts had to be noted in some way, for the sake of justice. Elsa intended to be a just and righteous ruler, like her father, and this matter would not be an exception. So what should she do?

_Maybe I should meet with him_, she pondered, _to officially thank him for his services to the realm._ The notion was so absurd it was almost funny. The more she thought about it, however, the better it seemed. Elsa could grant him a request as a reward for the good things he'd done for Arendelle, while he'd still face his punishment for the bad. She would reserve the right to deny the request, of course, but if he came up with something reasonable, surely it was the decent thing to do to grant it? Anna would have passionately opposed, she was sure, but Anna wasn't there. Maybe Elsa could get Prince Hans off her mind for good when her conscience would truly be clear regarding him. She looked at the portait of her father. Kings and queens must be able to rise above their personal feelings and always think first of what's best for the realm, instead of what they'd personally like to do most, he had often told her. _Personally, I may have every reason to despise him, she mused, but the kingdom of Arendelle is in his debt, and I represent the kingdom._ She straightened her back. The ambassador of Galterre was planning to set sail the next day. Better get it over with. _Let us settle the matter._

•••

On her way to the dungeons, Elsa tried to think of what she would say. She should appear firm, regal and distant, she decided, but not too haughty. Or should she show her indignation at him? _No, I don't want him to think he's gotten under my skin and get cocky._ She expected he would be scornful and angry, maybe even arrogant or insulting. She tried to steel herself. Getting upset would be childishly embarrassing and accomplish nothing, and she did not want to lose control of the frost in front of _him_. Calm, poised, graceful, in control, that was the way she wanted to be. That was the way queens were.

Her heart started beating faster when she descended to the cell level. The guard on duty bounced up to salute her, and Elsa caught the almost familiar flicker of fear in his eyes, too. _What does he think, I wonder? Is he afraid the witch queen has come to kill the foreign prince?_ It made her nervous. When she glanced down to watch her step, she noticed the hem of her silk-cotton summer gown was slightly frosted with ice. _Oh, what does it matter. He knows about me, anyway._ As she waited outside the cell while the guard announced her, she felt the snakes of nervousness writhe in her belly. Why was she so jittery? He couldn't harm her. _Don't feel, Elsa, not now. Don't let anything show. Calm. Poised. Be the queen, now._ The guard got out of the way, bowing, and she stepped in.

Prince Hans was standing up, waiting for her in the shadows with a carefully neutral expression, but his eyes held a slightly surprised look. His wrists were chained to the wall, loosely enough to allow him enough room to move about the cell, but not long enough to reach the door. _It's a bit disrespectful, he is a prince after all_, she thought, but they had so few guards they couldn't risk him overpowering them and escaping. Besides, with the way he'd been behaving, some disrespect was definitely in order. He looked a little scruffier than she remembered, his hair was in need of a wash and he'd grown a very faint stubble, but even in the dim light of the cell, his general person still held a regal air as he stood with military posture, his head held high, calmly meeting her eyes. _He looks exactly like an imprisoned prince, valiant and good. Shows how deceiving appearances can be._ Elsa pulled herself up a little. Prince Hans bowed.

"Your Majesty."  
"Prince Hans." She nodded back. _Formal, then, are we?_ She drew breath to speak, but suddenly couldn't remember at all what she wanted to say. Her mouth felt dry. She looked at her prisoner, who was intently observing her, his eyes moving rapidly as he took her in. For a while, neither spoke. The air seemed to grow thick and somewhat colder, and she grew desperate to break the silence before the frost would break out and embarrass her. _Say something, anything._  
"I, I trust you've been treated well?" she blurted out. _Stupid. Should I have used the royal plural? Ah, too late._ "Considering," she added faintly, gesturing at the chains. His eyebrows crept up and he blinked at her.  
"As well as can be expected, ma'am," he answered, slowly. He was wary now, she noticed, trying to figure out why she was here, suspecting a trap. She tried to gather her thoughts. _Poised like a queen._  
"Good." She cleared her throat. "I, ah, it has come to my attention that despite your grave and despicable offenses against the crown, you have also provided indispensable aid and direction to my people, as well as myself, in their, our, time of need," she managed, her voice trembling faintly. _Get it together._ She continued with a more determined air. "I have come to personally express my gratitude to you for these services, on behalf of the realm." He stared at her with wide eyes, incredulous. Elsa pulled her chin up and soldiered on. "It is my firm belief that for the sake of justice, bad deeds must be punished as appropriate, but also that good deeds ought to be rewarded. As recognition for your aid, I have decided to grant you a request of your choosing, naturally at my discretion." She countered his stare with her own, feeling refreshingly defiant and slightly smug. _You thought I was here to mock you when you're down, like you so cruelly abused my sister at her moment of weakness, no doubt. You thought I would stoop to your level, you cad. Ha! What do you say to that? _ The Prince looked at her silently, opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, licked his lips. Elsa could almost hear him think. He hadn't been expecting this, that was certain.  
"I, ah. Thank you, Your Majesty, for the _distinction_." He seemed to be slightly amused by the thought and gestured at the clinking chains on his wrists, smiling faintly. "I don't suppose a royal pardon could be considered?" His tone was dry but pleasant.  
"No."  
"Thought as much," he said, lightly. "May I have some time to deliberate on my request?" His eyes glinted with amusement. It was almost like he was jesting with her. _Does he think it's a joke?_  
"You may. I remind you, however, that you will not stay with us for long, " she tried to reply in the same nonchalant tone. His expression shifted faintly.  
"What do you plan to do with me? If I may inquire of Your Majesty." He wasn't laughing any more, though his voice was still soft.  
"We, I have decided to leave your fate up to the judgement of your own family, and return you to them, banished and as prisoner, as soon as possible," she answered, expecting him to be relieved, maybe even pleased at the news. Surely he would be, his own family would undoubtedly go easy on him, after all.

His reaction surprised her. He worked his jaw and drew a deep breath. A swift flicker of apprehension - _Fear? Couldn't be_ \- passed across his face before he set his features back into a neutral expression. He looked away, swallowing.  
"Ah." He drew another, deeper breath. "Naturally." _I might be imagining it, but he looks almost miserable, _she thought, suddenly curious._ Why isn't he happy to return home?_

"You do not seem pleased by the news," she ventured. "Are you not delighted to return to your family?" He turned his head around and shot her a contemplating look.  
"Families are not always an endless fountain of delight, as I'm sure Your Majesty is well aware," he said quietly after a short while. _What on earth does he mean by that? Is it an insult? Is he talking about Anna?_ He smiled at her, but it seemed forced and thin and did not reach his eyes. Elsa scrutinized him, trying to figure out the man in front of her.  
"I do not understand your meaning, Prince Hans," she said. "Would you rather wither in a cell in a foreign land, far from your home and your loved ones?" His eyes flashed at that. "Surely not."  
"My loved ones," he muttered, almost to himself. "My dear, dear loved ones." He sniffed. "Evidently, Your Majesty is not well acquainted with my _caring_ family." His smile had a snarling quality to it, now.  
"If the thought of their reaction is so unpleasant to you, why did you try to usurp my throne with such immoral treachery?" Her tone was so icy it cooled the air. "You must have realised that it was dishonourable and wrong, and that your attempt might fail. Didn't you think of that before you decided to abandon all honour?" He shot her another, much sharper look.

"I tried to do what I deemed right and necessary at the time." His voice was flat and dismissive. Elsa almost didn't believe her ears, and indignation prickled at her cheeks.  
"What was right? You thought that murdering the royal family of a neighbouring country in cold blood so that you could seize the throne for yourself was what was _right_? That cruelly abusing other people's feelings was _necessary_?" She heard her voice crack with anger. Without looking down, she knew that the floor was covered with black ice under her feet. _Don't get provoked,_ a thought whispered. Queens didn't lose their temper. _Don't feel it. Poised, Elsa._ She tried to calm herself. Prince Hans was regarding her with a superficially blank face, but she thought she could sense a sneer beneath the mask, rippling just under the surface. _Control yourself. You're a queen. Act like it._ The rippling irritation within the Prince seemed to finally break out.

"I might point out to _Your Majesty_, if I _may_, that you had unleashed a disastrous curse upon your land and its people, had fatally struck your own sister, and appeared completely unable to control your own powers and revoke the curse when I _begged_ it of you, _ma'am_," he seethed, with a cutting edge in his voice, "and that at the time, it truly seemed like the _only_ way of ending the devastating winter that threatened to kill all of the crops as well as most of Your Majesty's_ beloved_ subjects was, if you'll pardon my frankness, to end _you_, ma'am." She stared at him, completely speechless and fuming. She felt the frost crackle under her feet again, climbing up her dress. _The nerve!_ He went on, agitated. "I might further point out to _Your Majesty_, that your behaviour and actions seemed to the uninformed at the time very much exactly like the actions of, if Your Majesty will forgive me, a wicked, evil _witch_ straight out of a story book," Elsa opened her mouth to protest but no sound came out, and he continued intensely, "and I feel confident in stating that most men in my place would have reached the exact same conclusion and taken the very same course of action, considering the information available at the time."

Elsa remembered Arnesen's tearful confession with an unpleasant jolt. _Most men in his place_. A black, sickening, tar-like feeling started spreading in her gut, extinguishing her anger. Despite their current glib assurances of goodwill, all of the foreign dignitaries had firmly supported Prince Hans' claim for power and his decision to execute her. And it was indeed Elsa who had frozen Anna's heart, almost killing her, it was her own doing, not his. Her thoughts were swirling, making her nauseous. _Dear God. He's right, isn't he?_ Everything he said was true. _Is that the way they all see me? As a fearsome witch?_ But wasn't that what she really was, after all? A failure, a catastrophic failure, a pathetic mockery of a true queen. Exhaustion and misery engulfed her. Tears burned at her eyes, about to break out. _I can't. I can't do it, pappa, I'm so sorry._ She was suddenly ashamed of herself, crumbling publicly like this in front of the traitor, and glanced nervously at Prince Hans, expecting to see a sneer of contempt on his face.  
Instead, she found him looking considerately to the side, pretending not to see her moment of weakness with an almost remorseful expression. He cleared his throat.  
"Despite it all," he said quietly, pausing to look for words, "I would like to say that I am very glad you- Your Majesty is still alive."

_What did he just say?_ Elsa couldn't believe her ears.  
"You tried to murder me yourself," she breathed. The Prince looked sheepishly at the floor.  
"Like I said, I believed it was an unavoidable necessity at the time. Personally, I did not - do not - wish Your Majesty any harm." Embarrassed, the man looked clearly embarrassed, though it was subtle. _Liar_, she thought._ Deceiver. He's trying to trick me._  
"You were very clear to my sister about how you thought it would have been a necessity to arrange a little accident for me, to clear the path to the throne." He made a face.  
"It was a regrettable exaggeration, uncalled for and in poor taste, I must admit." _Exaggeration? In poor taste?_ Elsa remembered the pain in Anna's eyes as she'd told her of his betrayal, of how he broke her heart. _How dare he!_ Hot fury flamed inside her again, manifesting in sharp spikes of ice around her feet.  
"And the way you treated Anna, was that _in poor taste,_ too? Turning your back on your own fiancée who's begging for you to save her life, cruelly tormenting her and abandoning her to die alone, was that perhaps _in poor taste_, Prince Hans?" It started to snow in the cell, but he seemed completely unfazed in the face of her ire. "She was dying, and you did nothing to help her!"  
"Truly, there was absolutely nothing I could have done," he calmly told her. _He's shameless,_ Elsa fumed, _absolutely shameless, lying to my face in a situation like this!_ "In my understanding, Princess Anna was doomed, already beyond all help. She told me that you had intentionally struck her through the heart and that the only thing that could save her was a true love's kiss. Unfortunately, I did not truly love her, so nothing could save her." He looked uncomfortably at the floor. "I let my annoyance at her get the better of me, and I admit I may have, to my shame, behaved in a way that was beneath me especially considering the situation."  
"Your _annoyance_ at her? What did she ever do to _annoy_ you? She was in love with you!" He looked at her in a curious, evaluative way.  
"Her Royal Highness had repeatedly flaunted her complete carelessness when it came to propriety and the consequences of her actions," he stated evenly, "including agreeing to marry a virtual stranger and provoking Your Majesty into revealing your - condition." Elsa twitched, she might have had a similar thought or two, although she'd rather die than admit it to him. "She had disappeared impulsively into the night when her country most needed her. She predictably got herself in trouble, requiring a personal rescue mission that nearly cost many lives including mine own, when the manpower would have been sorely needed at Arendelle. No-one knew what was going on and both of you had vanished. It was an uncertain, stressful situation for us all, but when she finally returned, she kept thinking only of herself. I simply lost my patience, I'm afraid, and I confess I wanted to teach her a lesson." He twisted his mouth. "Having observed the antics of my brothers all my life, I don't have much respect for royals who completely disregard their responsibilities to their people, Your Majesty." He looked out of the window.

Elsa was completely taken aback. What in the world was going on? The Traitor was criticizing the Princess for not being cautious and responsible enough, and the Queen found herself almost agreeing with him. And had he just criticized _her_, too? She felt she'd completely lost the reins of the conversation. Perhaps he was toying with her, trying to mess with her mind? She felt exhausted by his presence and the whirlpool of new emotions this encounter was dragging her through.

"Why do you hate us so much, my sister and me, why did you choose us to usurp and murder?" she blurted out. "Why did you come here, really?"  
When he turned his head back to look at her, his eyes caught the light from the window. They reminded her of pools of seawater in summer, golden green and deep. He gave her a long, contemplating look, wistful and sad.  
"I came to Arendelle to woo you," he said, with a soft and low voice which sent curious shivers skittering across her skin, "Your Majesty." His words felt like a caress, like a feather running along her spine. It was a completely new sensation, and for a while she was speechless, almost short of breath.  
Elsa looked at the handsome prince, tall and fair, and it seemed like his presence in the cell grew, the air crackling with tension, as they silently gazed at each other. Her senses felt heightened and her heart was racing. _What is this?_

Suddenly she saw how different things could have been, felt an echo of a world where she was normal and handsome suitors - him - courted her. _Of course. Everyone in the world knew that I was in need of a groom._ Indeed, there had been a bothersome crowd of young-ish dignitaries with lapdog smiles vying for her attention, now that she thought of it. She had simply been too absorbed in her own anxieties to spare them any thought and had avoided them as well as she could, but in an ordinary world they'd all have been trying to fiercely out-flirt each other jousting for her favour. _And when the prince couldn't get the heir, he went for the spare instead. I see._ So practical, so simple. So hungry for power.

She still couldn't understand it. He was already royalty, a prince of a powerful and wealthy realm, handsome, young and healthy. Elsa vaguely remembered that the Southern Isles had an impressive amount of princes, so perhaps he would not inherit the throne, but wasn't that actually a blessing? A royal spare had all the advantages of royalty, without the weighty responsibility of the rule. It was a charmed life, in her opinion. Why in all the heavens would he feel the need to risk everything and resort to treason and murder in order to claim a throne in a small, insignificant kingdom?  
"Why?" she uttered, grasping for the right words. "Why were you so desperate for a throne? You're already a prince. Isn't it enough? What more could you want?"  
"What more!" he gave a joyless chuckle. "Indeed, I'm sure you couldn't think of anything more to ask. _Your Majesty._" Elsa was annoyed.  
"I, too, was but a princess very recently, and I remember hoping very much I could stay that way forever," she retorted. _Too much, you're revealing too much_, she worried, but she'd already said it. "It may not have occurred to you, but ruling is not all picnics and pies." His eyes were suddenly ablaze with fierce hatred, and anger twisted his fine features. She nearly took a step back.

"_You_ were always the crown heir, always destined for the throne, you were the future of the realm!" His voice was hoarse with anger. "You were _important_ from the moment you drew your first breath, important and respected and needed, set to inherit it all. People listened to you! People _noticed_ you! Don't you _dare_ pretend you know what it's like, to be, to be but a _prince_, to-" he caught himself and stopped abruptly, his eyes widening in shock at his own outburst. Breathing hard, he seemed to struggle to control himself, but managed to force his face back into a stiff, neutral expression, clearing his throat. "Forgive me. Your Majesty." He closed his eyes and stood still, lips pursed, his whole body tense.

Elsa stared at him with her mouth open. For a moment, his mask had slipped and she had caught a glimpse of his real self, his true feelings, she was absolutely sure. _And he's ashamed of it._ She sensed she'd been given the first part of a puzzle, had been shown the key to opening him up and figuring him out - though she didn't hold it yet. Surprisingly, she also felt a stirring of sympathy for him. His reaction had been raw and strong, a burst of feeling broken free. It reminded Elsa of her own outburst, the darkness she'd tried so hard to hold in, the blizzard that had broken out of her control when she'd been provoked. A new thought dawned on her, not yet clearly formed, a faint echo of recognition and similarity with this man. Did the perfect Prince, too, struggle to maintain an image and fulfill the expectations? Was he also hiding a storm of dark feelings, desperate to appear impeccable while hurting inside? Elsa was intrigued.

"It's true I've only ever been the crown heir and don't know any other existence," she admitted, "but the crown comes with a heavy burden of responsibility, and the heir has no choice but to bear it." Prince Hans opened his eyes. His expression was difficult to read, intentionally blank, but his eyes were burning like green flames, holding her gaze and blurring her thoughts. "Sometimes I think that perhaps, being a younger princess would be nicer. Easier, more free, certainly." T_oo open, too personal. Why does my tongue keep slipping like this?_ It was most unusual. Normally she was always so controlled, careful in everything she said and did, maintaining tight restraint. It was a necessity. But something in the Prince's presence made her forget herself, opened the way for strange thoughts and feelings to float to the surface and slip out before she could stop them. It was dangerous, he was dangerous, but she didn't seem to be able to stop.  
"Anna, at least, seems to enjoy being a spare, so I cannot believe that it is all that horrible, being a royal prince, wealthy and free, the world at your fingertips." Prince Hans drew breath as if to speak, but held it, studying her intently. He started and stopped again, biting his lower lip. Elsa held her breath, waiting for him to decide what he would say. Finally he spoke.

"Forgive my boldness, but Your Majesty's understanding of the wealth and freedom of younger royals may be a little inaccurate. May I ask, for example, if the Princess has any personal assets or estate apart from the crown properties?" It was a vulgar, impertinent question, and Elsa nearly rebuked him. But when she thought about it, she realised that as far as she knew, Anna had no separate private fortune at all, save for some personal items. At some point - when she married, most likely - some property would be appointed to her, but at the moment she had no actual wealth of her own.  
"She is a member of the royal family of Arendelle, and naturally the resources of the crown are at her disposal. She is by no means poor."  
"At her disposal? Does Your Majesty mean Princess Anna could use the crown's funds for her personal purposes, or for example sell some crown properties on her own if she needed to?" His voice was all soft velvet, hiding daggers behind the excessive politeness. He clearly knew the answer.  
"No. No, someone else must approve of all such decisions."  
"Someone else, Your Majesty?" He cocked an eyebrow at her. Elsa swallowed.  
"Me."  
"Indeed, you. As the heir, as queen, it all belongs to _you_, ma'am, and you alone. Estates, artworks, animals, assets, everything. It's the same thing in my own family, as it is in most royal families. In order to keep the fortune intact through the generations, it all goes to the firstborn, the crown heir. The rest of the royal family are simply mooching off them, living on what _pocket money_ the monarch chooses to graciously give them." He spoke like he was explaining things to a child. It annoyed her.  
"I know all this. What is your point? Officially everything belongs to the heir, but of course they share- they have a duty to share the wealth with the rest of their own family and take care of them, to look after their needs and wants."  
"A duty." Prince Hans' eyes were gleaming. "Your Majesty is exemplarily dutiful, no doubt, but not all royal heirs share your attitude," he said, through his teeth. Elsa started to finally understand what the problem was. "Sometimes, the heir sees the younger siblings as annoyances and their necessary expenses as a waste of money, especially when there's plenty of siblings needing plenty of things. For the sake of appearances, a certain regal level must be maintained with everybody's possessions, but it's done very grudgingly." He gave her an appraising look. "I very much doubt Your Majesty can imagine how it feels to have to beg for new boots, simply because it amuses your brother to see you humiliated? Or to be forced to hear for days on end how terribly _inconvenient_ it is that you grow so fast and needed new clothes again, feigning gratefulness, while you know your elder brothers just blew hundreds of times more on gambling in one night?" Burning hurt and anger was seeping from his every word.

It was all much too personal, and Elsa had no idea what to say or do. She was sure he would be mortified he'd revealed these things to her when he'd calmed himself, but aside from the bewilderment she felt strangely content to hear them. In some way they connected them further together, these raw reveals, the mutual embarrassment. It was a new feeling for her.  
"And you're helpless, you can't do anything," the Prince went on, the bitterness pouring forth with great force from deep within him, "because it's absolutely not suitable for a royal person to _work for money_, God forbid. You cannot earn your keep, you have no say in anything, but you are blamed for existing, for breathing. An expense, a burden, a nuisance to everyone." Breathing hard, he bit his lip and looked to the wall, trying to contain himself again.

The silence was so heavy it seemed to deafen her, and Elsa was shocked, really shocked. She had lived all her life in comfort and luxury and had never really had to ask for anything. Everything had always simply been there, waiting for her, often before she'd even thought of needing it. Bewildered, she realised she had thought it was the natural way for things to be, if she'd thought about it at all. _Could Anna feel the same way he does? Impossible, she's always so cheerful, she's the one who got to be with people, to do things and live more than I ever did, she can't be bitter. Can she?_ The only time Anna had ever asked for anything was the new sleigh for Kristoff, the ice harvester, and Elsa had instantly granted it. She tried to imagine making Anna squirm and beg in front of her for necessary clothing items, but simply couldn't. As queen and head of their family, she couldn't envision the sort of mentality you'd have to possess in order to do such a thing, to humiliate your own family member who was dependant on you. To blatantly ignore your duty as heir for your own cruel entertainment! The whole thought was throughly disgusting. She cleared her throat.  
"I understand your parents are still alive. Certainly they will curb the behaviour of their eldest? An unruly future king is harmful to the entire realm, after all." It felt weird to speak so boldly, but then this whole conversation was utterly absurd from the start. Suddenly a doubt of trickery flashed in her mind. "In fact, aren't your brothers still all princes, dependant on your father, the king?" _Why would you need to beg your brothers for anything? Are you trying to fool me again, trying to gain sympathy?_ Prince Hans gave a long, tired sigh and rubbed his face, deliberating on what to tell her. Royal family affairs were extremely private matters, and she understood his hesitation. She'd surprised herself by having had the gall to ask.

"My esteemed parents," he said, looking past her, "direct their attention mostly to the main heirs, my five eldest brothers. The lesser princes are not given much thought, and our mutual relations are largely left up to ourselves." His voice was resigned and quiet. "I understand it's considered educational for us to have to fend for ourselves. It fortifies the character and toughens one up, you see. However, in order to prepare him for the throne, Harald - I mean His Royal Highness Prince Harald, the crown heir - has already been given financial responsibility for the other princes' affairs," he gave a small, twisted smile, "so that he might learn the _responsibility_ of managing things for so many in advance." _What does he mean by "lesser princes"?_ Trepidation was growing in her chest, but she had to ask.  
"May I ask how many of you there are?"  
"We are thirteen princes, Your Majesty. I am the youngest." Elsa felt a cold thud in her stomach. _Thirteen!_ It was too many, far too many royal heirs, all in need of titles and positions and lands fitting for their station. _Impossible_. Even a royal family as wealthy as that would be significantly weakened if they'd divide their properties to thirteen parts. No, the majority of the princes would never inherit anything much from their family, except their prestigious name and royal blood. Even if they took the only respectable course of employment for royalty, the military, and managed to carve out an illustrious career winning skirmishes left and right, they'd still need to marry into wealth and royalty - or at least as high into nobility as they possibly could. But royalty was very hierarchical. The older the prince, the higher in line to the throne they were and thus more desirable as matches. As the youngest of so many, insignificant and poor for a royal, Prince Hans did not stand much of a chance of making a truly good match - unless he managed to charm his way into one. Elsa understood now why he had been in such a desperate hurry to marry Anna. It was still vile and disgraceful of him to deceive and injure her so, but she could sort of understand his motivation.

"You must have felt very lucky to secure my sister's hand so soon." He gave a small dry humph of assent. "But I can't see why you couldn't be satisfied with marrying so well. Why in heaven's name were you so hungry for power you wanted to seize the throne and kill me?" Elsa couldn't keep her voice from quivering. It was folly to think he'd be truthful, and she was no doubt making a fool of herself, but she needed to hear his answer. "The world is full of princes and princesses who never become kings and queens. Why isn't it enough for you?"  
Prince Hans looked deep into her eyes for such a long while it was almost insolent. "I supposed I wanted to be respected," he finally muttered to the floor. Elsa blinked, confused.  
"Respected? But..." _Maybe he meant admired?_  
"Respected by my family, Your Majesty." He swallowed. "By my father. I wanted His Majesty to notice me and feel pride, for once. I wanted to be able to look him in the eye as an equal, as another king."  
"Have you done something to make him ashamed of you, then," Elsa inquired, feeling the same trepidation from before. Now it was his turn to look confused.  
"I'm a youngest son, Your Majesty. I don't inherit anything, I don't hold any significant positions, I haven't made any advantageous matches or diplomatic deals or won any crucial battles. I have not accomplished anything or benefited my family in any way. So far, I have been completely useless to them." _Useless?_ "I wanted to show what I'm capable of. Ma'am." He smiled a small, heartbreaking smile. "Not that much, it turns out."  
"But..." _Not accomplished anything_, she thought, remembering how he'd practically single-handedly saved the people of Arendelle, how he'd triumphed at her ice palace. He was so capable and naturally good at ruling and social graces any king ought to be proud of such a son, so good she envied him, but here he stood claiming that none of it was enough for his family unless he wore a crown.

Elsa thought of her own parents, who had always loved her despite her horrifying ailment. She had been a miserable failure as a crown princess, unable to even not be a danger to everyone and control her powers, let alone properly fulfill her duties, but her father had always expressed nothing but love and encouragement to her. He had stubbornly believed in her, even when she herself had not. His love and unyielding support had given her the strength to carry on through the endless darkness, to keep trying no matter what. For a moment, she hesitantly tried to imagine what her life would have been like if her _pappa_ had been a colder man, like the one the Prince described. A distant _sire_ who would only accept you if you were a great success, and coldly expressed his deep disappointment or ignored you if you fell short of the expectations. The idea was so painful she quickly shooed it away. She suspected that had it been reality, she would have taken her own life in shame and desperation long ago. Could such cruel parents really exist?

_He's lying, he has to be_. But when she looked at his expression, tendrils of doubt and unease snaked inside her. He seemed so resigned, tired and devastated Elsa couldn't bear it, she couldn't help wanting to comfort him.  
"But you're so very good at leading, at running a country and managing things! Surely your family must be pleased with you, even if they might not show it."  
How in the heavens had she ended up trying to comfort the traitor and bolster his self-esteem? It was truly extraordinary, the whole discussion was surreal. Prince Hans lifted his head, astonished.  
"Excelling in theory means nothing to my family, it's the actual position or the done deeds that matter," he said slowly. "May I ask how would Your Majesty know about my ability to run a country?" Elsa almost blushed.  
"I, ahem, I found the note you'd left at the library." His eyes widened. "I-I thought it was very clever, very insightful!" Why did she feel the need to explain herself? The words poured out of her mouth before she could think of what she said. "I even executed a couple of your ideas, to be honest, and they worked like a charm!" He looked absolutely dumbfounded.  
"Ah. Well, I tried - I always enjoyed thinking about those things, about all the things one has to consider, in case I'd ever, uh, find myself in a position of authority -" He licked his lips. "Ahem, what did you - uh, might I ask which ideas Your Majesty chose to implement?" His voice was brimming with curiosity, though he tried to keep a nonchalant tone.  
"The carpenter team and the frostfir deal," Elsa announced with a grin. Prince Hans grinned back at her.  
"Good choice. How was the response? Did they take the deal?"  
"They almost fought over it!"  
"Who did you pick? For which products?" His eyes shone with excitement as he leaned closer, and she felt the thrill of politics, too.  
"Hansa, but I left the particulars to be agreed upon later, when I know what we need. In general we're exchanging around two _lästs_ of dry goods for every 20 hundredweights of timber. I made sure there's a clause for Arendelle to back out in case somethings goes wrong," she stated, proud of herself. He gave an impressed nod.  
"That's a good deal." He was beaming with open delight at their success. "Just take care, Hansa excels in trade and they're very crafty when it comes to negotiations. Make absolutely sure you've agreed on which trade port's _läst_ variation they'll use, officially and in writing, _before_ anyone ships anything. And try to weigh your timber when it's thoroughly wet." Elsa nodded intently. She hadn't remembered at all that almost every major trading power had their own versions of measurements. It was sound advice.

Then the absurdity of the situation hit them. Prince Hans pulled himself back up, flustered.  
"I must apologize to Your Majesty, I forgot myself."  
"No, no," Elsa assured, "I thank you for your advice. All of it, the note - it's very helpful to me in my new position," she was babbling and felt like an idiot. _He knows very well how badly I need help in running this country and how pitifully our affairs have been managed. I don't need to demonstrate it to him by behaving like a hapless ditz._ "I think you are very good at managing the crown affairs," she finished faintly.  
"Thank you, Your Majesty," he said, almost bashfully. They both studied the walls for a while. Elsa was completely lost. Never in a million years would she have expected for the meeting to go this way. She felt bewildered by it all, by him, his words, the things he made her feel. It was all so unexpected and bizarre. Maybe she should take her leave before it got completely out of hand.

"Well, I-"  
"If I may, I-"  
They spoke at the same time. A giggle escaped Elsa's lips, and she covered her mouth. She gave him a nod as indication to go first.  
"I wanted to inquire after my horse Sitron, ma'am, if I may," he said, gazing at her with a queer look, "how is he being treated, and what will happen to him when I'm sent back?" Elsa had not even been aware he had a horse, and had to admit she had no idea of Sitron's whereabouts. She promised to find out. Naturally, his horse would go with him. The Prince looked strangely uncomfortable at the promise, but said nothing.

"Well! I thank you again, for your, ah, help. And best of luck." It definitely wasn't very queenly to confidentially plan the country's affairs with traitors or wish them luck in their upcoming sentence. Elsa tried to think of something appropriate to say, some final regal words before he was shipped off to face his punishment, but her mind was buzzing too much. She sighed.  
"Please send word when you've decided on your request, Prince Hans." He nodded and bowed.  
"I will, Your Majesty. Thank you for the privilege of your company." He straightened his back and hesitated for a heartbeat. "I'm very sorry. For it all." His voice was soft, but his apology seemed to linger in the cell, echoing from the walls.  
They stood still for a while, looking at each other in the cool dimness, everything that had happened hanging in the air between them. She felt there was some unnamed tension in the room, something more she should say, but couldn't take it any more and left.

•••

Halfway up the stairs she finally realised what had been so strange about Prince Hans.  
There hadn't been a single flicker of fear in his eyes when he had looked at her. Not even when she'd been angry.

Back in her chambers, she paced around like a caged animal, unable to shake the weird nervousness she felt. Instead of settling anything, the encounter had confused her even further.  
She felt sympathy for him, and that was bad. The image of the imprisoned prince, downcast and resigned, weighed on her mind. She looked out over the fjord to calm her thoughts, but the sea reminded her of the green depths of his eyes instead. When she saw the ship of the ambassador of Galterre, it's sails glowing golden in the evening light, a peculiar pressuring feeling gripped her chest. _What is this?_ It was most bothersome.

She couldn't remember ever having spoken with someone like that. They had been superficially formal, yes, but she'd felt connected with him in a way she'd never experienced before. She had almost physically felt his presence, his looks, his words. The memory of his voice sent curious shivers down her spine. It was extraordinary.  
_It's trouble_, she thought. _He's trouble. This must be how he got to Anna, too, the smooth charm is his deadliest weapon_. She firmly told herself she would not fall for the wily tricks of that dishonourable scoundrel. Tomorrow Prince Hans would be gone for good, and it was definitely for the best. She imagined the ship sailing away, vanishing over the horizon with him locked in its brig, never to return. Good riddance. Her gut twisted into painful knots, perhaps she was getting sick. She started to get ready for bed, undoing her hair.

Once back in his own country, the Prince would never receive the acceptance from his parents he craved so much it had almost driven him to murder. The shame he'd brought upon his family was too great. He'd never get another chance, unlike her. Elsa reflected on their respective situations while shifting out of her outfit.

She had almost killed a great deal of people herself, including her own sister. He had almost killed only Elsa, but managed to save the lives of many. The critical difference was that she'd nearly frozen her subjects to death by sheer accident, while his attempt on her life had been fully intentional. That made it attempted murder, and that was why he deserved the harsh punishment. The memory of her blind moment of blood-lust at the ice palace surfaced again, filling her with unease. _Wasn't that almost intentional murder, too?_ But it was crucially different, she told herself. She'd had to do it, she'd tried to save her own life. She had no choice. But didn't Prince Hans think he had no choice but to kill her, to save Arendelle?  
_Now you're just being ridiculous._ She pulled her nightgown angrily over her head.

Dwelling on the hypothetical similarity of their circumstances was pointless. It would only serve to confuse her - to give her uncomfortable thoughts about things she couldn't change, and even more uncomfortably, compassionate thoughts about the traitor. Feeling bad about his crushed aspirations, sad fate and ruined life would be absolutely foolish. So what if he'd be locked up for good, him and his broad shoulders and velvet voice and impeccable manners and dashing competence and damned emerald pool eyes.  
_Oh drat. What are you doing? Stop it. Right now._ She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. In any case, there was nothing to be done about it.

He would be gone, and all that would remain of him would be his note. In a way, it was a shame. It had been wonderful to be able to discuss the affairs of the nation with someone, to share the burden even momentarily. She wished she could run every important move by someone with good judgment and helpful suggestions. Elsa suddenly remembered the advice the Prince had given.  
She should write it down, before she forgot. She padded barefoot to her personal little desk, lit a candle, found a pen and scribbled on the corner of Prince Hans' note, to keep the information in one place. _Official written agreement on _läst_ type __before__ shipping, weigh timber __wet__._ Good. She stood up and looked at the note, her more ornamental hand next to his precise, more masculine one, complementing each other to form directions to Arendelle's future together.

A tentative idea lifted its head at the back of her mind. _No_, a thought of sense warned. _It's a bad idea, Elsa. He's dangerous and deceitful. You know it. He tried to cleave his way to the throne before, he'll do it again._ But people changed, didn't they? Or at least their motivations and goals changed, and their behaviour accordingly. Besides, the situation was very different. She knew to be suspicious of him now, and he couldn't hope to charm and lie his way to power any more. _He's still dangerous,_ caution persisted. _You ruined his plans. He will want revenge. He already tried to kill you. You're playing with fire._  
But he hadn't really seemed that vengeful at the cell, even though he'd been quite open with his emotions. Elsa remembered their mutual excitement when they'd planned the deal. She'd never felt anything like it before. To let go of the front of determined competence, to be able to weigh the heavy decisions with someone else, to hear opinion and advice instead of the submissive agreement of servants. And he gave such good advice. _He's going to betray you, Elsa._

Elsa placed her hands on both sides of the note and stared at it intensely, as if it could give her the answers if she intimidated it enough. She desperately needed someone to help her rule, that was clear. She needed a steward, a counselor with cunning and insight, but also the authority to give her their honest opinion instead of simpering flattery, and the backbone to disagree with her if necessary. Well, he had plenty of cunning, that was for sure. He was good with people and had seen the world, he was experienced with the other nations and their customs and ways of doing politics. He was sharp and understood the needs of a country and was enthusiastic about making a difference. He'd already proven he could rule Arendelle well. Prince Hans was the perfect choice, really. _  
And handsome_, the sensible thought accused, but that was beside the point, and did not influence her opinion of him. At all. He was simply the most suitable person for the job. Apart from the treason and the attempted murder and the emotional cruelty and the cold-blooded deception and thirst for power. She groaned and stomped to the window. Twilight had descended, and Arendelle looked beautiful in the softly translucent summer night.

_If only there would be a way to control him, to be sure he wouldn't sabotage Arendelle as revenge_, she mused, contemplating her beloved realm. Something sweet enough to entice him to take up the position and honestly try his best, but also something powerful to threaten him, to keep him under control. But what could he want? What could he fear more than his current situation? Elsa turned to look at the portrait of her father again. He would have seen it and known. _Pappa, what could a man like that desire?_

And then she knew.

•••

Prince Hans looked worn and tired when she entered. Elsa suspected he had not slept much the past night. Her captive was dressed in his grey tailcoat, waiting to go, fidgety and so pale his freckles stood out even in the dimness. He looked openly surprised to see her. Apparently he'd assumed it would be the guards, come to take him to the ship. Elsa managed to smile at him despite being so tense with anticipation it was almost difficult to breathe.

"Good morning."  
"Good morning, Your Majesty." He gave her a small bow. "Have you come to personally inquire after my request? I was not expecting such an honour."  
"Yes and no," Elsa said, gathering her resolve. "Actually, I have a proposition for you."  
"A proposition, ma'am?"  
"Yes." She drew a deep breath. "I offer you a position as a steward, as my personal advisor in matters of state." He stared at her with utter astonishment, his mouth hanging open.  
"Excuse me?" She looked him steadily in the eye and tried to sound as imposing as she could.  
"While remaining a prisoner, you would also make amends for your crimes by assisting me in running the country. You would put your knowledge and abilities to good use, to the service of the nation you so despicably tried to wrong."  
"Oh, definitely," he chuckled dryly. "Your Majesty would willingly depend on the advice of a convicted traitor - one who personally tried to kill you, no less?" He smiled tiredly. "I believe you are pulling my leg, ma'am. A most unexpected move, Your Majesty, I must admit. Well played."  
"I am completely serious, Prince Hans," she stated. "Traitor or no, your skills in diplomacy would greatly help m- that is, would benefit Arendelle. Undoubtedly you are aware of that." _You know very well what a mess we are in and how badly I need help._ The smile faded from his face as he studied her intensely, trying to find signs of bluff.

"You," he started and hesitated, a sly smile slowly starting to creep on the side of his mouth, "you mean to say you _need_ me, Your Majesty." She said nothing, and his smile expanded to a grin. "Oh, my. Humbling yourself to ask for the help of the same man who tried to steal your crown, have you killed and broke the heart of your sister? That can't be easy, ma'am." His condescending tone irked her, but she kept her mouth shut. "But I find it hard to believe Your Majesty would be so foolish as to blindly trust me like that. You do desperately need a competent advisor, ma'am, but to choose a proven traitor? I'm fairly sure that placing trust on people who've recently made an attempt on your life is widely considered one of worst ideas a ruler could have, right up there with confiscating property from powerful lords and blowing it all on fashion." He regarded her curiously. "Why me?" She stared hard at him. _Can I tell him?_  
"You do not seem to fear me, Prince Hans."  
"Fear you?" Understanding dawned on his face. "No, Your Majesty, I don't," he said softly. "I carried you back from the mountain myself and didn't turn to ice. You do not frighten me." She felt the feather on her spine again.

"Then, do you accept?" _Too eager_. His expression changed subtly. It reminded her vaguely of a fox, on the prowl.  
"Why would I? As Your Majesty pointed out, I will no doubt receive a kinder punishment from my own family. Why would I choose to remain here, not only imprisoned but humiliated as well, far from home?"  
"Your efforts would naturally affect the length of your sentence. If you will honestly do your best for Arendelle, I will shorten your conviction accordingly. I also give you my word that you will be treated with such respect as befits your position." His eyes flashed.  
"My position as a traitor and a prisoner, ma'am?"  
"Your position as a prince of a neighbouring realm."  
"And if I should not try my best, Your Majesty, what then? What if I should turn out to give rotten advice, just to see Arendelle driven to ruin?" he inquired lightly.  
"At the first sign of sabotage, the arrangement would naturally be immediately terminated and you would serve out your conviction as a full prisoner." She pinned him with a hard look. "I am not a fool, Prince Hans. I'm very well aware you likely harbour a grudge against me and mine, and might seek vengeance. I will be on my guard. It will never be possible for you to try to seize the throne of Arendelle again." He pursed his mouth. "But I believe that the arrangement I propose benefits us both, and sincerely hope that you will see reason and make the right choice. I offer you a chance to redeem yourself, to do some good to balance out the bad. I hope you will take it."  
"How exactly would this arrangement benefit me, may I ask, ma'am? I would still be a despised traitor in the eyes of the world, but instead of having failed at a coup d'etat, I would be a prince who failed at a coup and then humiliated himself by working as a servant. I would bring twice as much shame to my family, and for what? Some warm feeling of _doing the right thing_?" Elsa felt her heart race. _Will he bite? _ She played her ace.

"You forget, sir, that you have not yet made your request. Should you ask it of me, in exchange for your services, I am prepared to let you yourself choose _exactly_ how the whole situation, including the events that led to your imprisonment, will be presented to your family. To the world." Her mouth felt dry. The Prince stared at her, eyes wide, and seemed to have trouble finding his voice.  
"You mean you would let me _lie_ to my family about the treason? About being a prisoner? And Arendelle would officially back it up?" She nodded. "But, but that would be no good. The other dignitaries..."  
"Gossip and whispers. What do they weigh against the official position of Arendelle?" He licked his lips, a feverish gleam appearing in his eyes.  
"You would truly lie about such a thing?"  
"Lie? No. But fudge the particulars somewhat? _If_ you will honestly give your best for the kingdom, then yes. I am prepared to give you a second chance, like the one I myself have been given, _if_ you are prepared to truly give your all in exchange."  
"You mean it," he almost whispered, "you really mean it." Elsa's heart was pounding in her ears.  
"Yes," she breathed. Their eyes were locked together, the air crackling with the tension. _I have to take control of the situation. Act in charge._  
"I will now leave you to deliberate," she announced in a regal tone, pulling herself to her full height, "but I urge you to decide soon. The Duc du Fourberenard is set to leave within four hours." Elsa turned to leave, short of breath with excitement. She had only taken a few steps when he called after her.

"Your Majesty," his words rang clear in the musty silence, "I accept."

*_läst_ is an old measurement of weight and dry trade goods. It was widely in use before the metric system especially in the germanic and nordic countries, and indeed varied a great deal depending on the harbour. For the purposes of this story it is around 4250 kg when measuring weight, and around 3000 litres or 24 barrels when measuring trade goods.

A hundredweight is a smaller unit of measurement, around 50+ kg. 20 hundredweights would be close to a metric ton.


	3. where a prince becomes a commoner

III

_where a prince becomes a commoner_

_It is always a pleasure to start the morning with a particularly good cup of coffee_, Hans thought, inhaling the delicious aroma.  
He appreciated a well-made cup any day, but after some time in a cell on sparse prisoner's fare, it was a real feast. Hans closed his eyes and delighted in the moment as much as he could. The sun was warming his face quite nicely through the big glass doors. He was alone in the room – well, apart from the guard by the door – and everything was slow and calm. In his current situation he couldn't be sure when next he would be able to enjoy a peaceful breakfast of acceptable quality, so he intended to make the most of it while he could. Granted, he was supposed to officially become Queen Elsa's personal steward as soon as she deigned to show up, but the situation was so thoroughly outlandish he didn't dare to trust their deal just yet. It was fully possible it was all some devious ploy of retaliation, coaxing him into believing things were looking up for him - and then pulling the rug from under his feet, just to see him crumble and despair. Hans wasn't that gullible, though, not after having grown up in _his_ family. He knew everything could be snatched away at any moment and that nothing was certain, except perhaps for the present moment. And the present moment, delightfully, held a nice cup of good coffee in comfortable surroundings. He took a sip and looked out across the smallish palace garden.

He'd gone from a visiting foreign prince to royal fiancé to acting regent to usurper to prisoner to a witch's apprentice in the short span of a few days. It was a real whirlwind ride. Arendelle was turning out to be quite an interesting place, he had to admit. _Maybe I ought to recommend a visit to Hallbjørn the next time he whines of boredom_, he thought, briefly relishing a vision of his supremely annoying brother being chased by magical snow monsters. _Arendelle, the perfect holiday destination for the adventurous, where you never know what the deuce will happen next._

So far, absolutely nothing had gone according to his expectations. He'd tried to react to everything to the best of his ability, changing and re-changing his plans after each new turn. It was the battle tactic he'd learned — against an unknown foe in unknown waters, never fully trust anything, never get too attached to a fixed plan, question everything and always be ready to adapt if new information arises. It had almost worked, he'd almost come out on top, but something had gone wrong in the last, critical moment. Apparently, it had to do with Anna, who had mysteriously made a full recovery instead of dying.

Hans frowned at the enthusiastically blooming bower of lilacs in the garden. He just couldn't comprehend what had happened. He'd been knocked out by some burst of power just when he'd struck at the Queen, and when he'd come to, the winter was gone, _poof_, and Anna and Elsa were both alive. Alive and cordial, even though Anna had been at death's door mere moments ago. Apparently she didn't at all mind being cursed to death. And apparently, the Queen _had_ been able to control her powers after all. Had she lied in the cell, then? Why the heck would she have done that? It was all a damned mystery. _Hopefully I'll be able to winkle some answers out of her._

When the Snow Queen had paid him a visit, he'd been sure she'd come to threaten and gloat. Hans himself had been bristling with frustration and anger. Both of the royal sisters had messed up disastrously, and without him Arendelle would have been utterly doomed. Admittedly, he'd tried to seize the throne, but that was _only_ when it had seemed to be otherwise left empty. It was only what every sane man of any ambition would have done in his situation, really. Besides, he'd been a far better ruler than either Anna or Elsa, the only one who actually thought of the realm. He'd done all that he could to save it, and for all his troubles he got locked in a cell and called a traitor. Hans had had a dozen poisonous remarks on the tip of his tongue, ready to be spat out at the witch, but he'd swallowed them down and assumed an air of cool courtesy instead. She was, after all, a dangerous sorceress and he was her prisoner. It would have been madness to provoke her when she might explode with magic, freeze his heart or curse the kingdom again. Or just sentence him to death.

He'd been greatly surprised when Queen Elsa had professed her gratitude instead. He hadn't thought the witch would be perceptive enough to recognise what he'd done for her country. He'd assumed she'd be boiling over with vengeful outrage at the attempt on her life and her throne. But evidently, despite her faults, she had the capability to think like a true ruler and see the wider picture. He'd been even more surprised when she had actually offered him a reward; a request. He'd nearly not believed his ears. A dozen wild suggestions had flashed in his mind, just to see her reaction; to ask for a game or a duel for his freedom, a chance to escape, a kiss... but sense had won and he'd just asked for some time to think. In his dire position he needed to make the most of this small morsel of chance.

When the Queen had told him he would be shipped back to the Southern Isles come morning, all traces of playfulness had vanished from his mind. He dreaded his family's reaction, the cold, crushing disapproval, the suffocating weight of the silent, immense disappointment, the barely hidden snickers of contempt. He would never rise from this fall in his family's eyes, the embarrassment was too shameful. He would forever be the inept, useless weakling, the last accident, incapable of anything other than failing and dragging the family name through dirt. It stung. _Such a blunder._ Utterly botching a coup in the last stretch because of a soft heart! Some navy officer he was, foiled by a dying girl almost too weak to move. _That's what all that fabled honour and honesty will get you in real life,_ he thought bitterly. Loose ends, sloppy unpredictability and failure. _If I'd suffocated her, I'd be sitting on the throne now._ But somehow he still couldn't really regret it. Murdering an injured girl who trusted him, his own betrothed - it just wasn't right, even if it would have been prudent and thorough.

_And that's why you'll never be taken seriously like the mains,_ the sharp voice hissed. _You're too damn soft, too pathetically sentimental. Do you think Hendrick would have wavered? Do you think he could have triumphed like he did, if he'd started dallying and pussyfooting around critical moves because of some abstract notions of honour or morale or because he felt uncomfortable about them? No, he has the guts to do what must be done, to follow through all the way till the end, and that's why he's still personally toasted by father at the Christmas dinner and you're a disgrace and a bloody failure._

Winning at battles as well as politics required a clear mind, drive, ambition and the strength to do whatever was necessary. It was a hard game where the ends justified all means. All that mattered was the outcome, what was marked down in the history books after the dust had settled. Trying to usurp a ruler was condemned only if it failed, because the winning side always dictated the narrative. Failure became vile treason, success a glorious triumph. When you finally revealed your cards and openly went for it, you were expected to _win_. That was what the men of their family did, they won and conquered and succeeded and acquired. Failing was embarrassing, it created political strife and unpleasant whispers and made the family look clumsy and _weak_, and that was dangerous and unforgivable.

Hans tried to swallow down the bitter lump in his throat. He truly did think he was better at ruling than most of his brothers - Hendrick, for example, for all his victorious ruthlessness, was lousy at managing a realm's affairs during peacetime, whereas he fancied himself to be rather apt with balancing all the different variables and circumstances. But none of that mattered if he couldn't play his way to a throne first. So he'd tried to play, and he'd lost. He'd almost been sent back branded a loser and a traitor. A sickening feeling roiled inside him.

He wasn't sure what they would have done with him, but it wouldn't have been pleasant. Nothing too _dramatic_, though, he was sure of that, they wouldn't want to draw attention to the shameful cock-up with a spectacle. That ruled out execution, disowning or official banishing. Instead, they'd probably have tried to quietly sweep him and his very existence under the rug, or at least distance themselves from him. Some years locked up somewhere, certainly. Maybe he would be placed on indefinite house arrest in one of their more remote estates or even sent abroad. Permanently, perhaps? Sent him off to some territory dispute somewhere far to lead an _aggressive acquisition_, hoping that either the battle or the Iberian influenza would take care of him? _That would probably be the best outcome in their view_, he thought miserably, him falling on some front, so that the small honour of dying in the line of duty would wash away at least some of the stain. He had wondered if he'd ever see Hafleikr again, and if he did, would even the kindest of all his brothers look at him with disappointment and scorn? _What would you say, Haffan, would you, too, finally turn away?_ Hans closed his eyes against the stinging feeling in them and held his breath to push the nausea back down. He put his cup down and turned his face towards the window — and his back to the guard – and exhaled slowly. He opened his eyes and determinedly studied the patterns on the window-frame, wavering between familiar and foreign, so close yet different from the styles of his homeland. He was still in Arendelle, for now. _Focus on the possible and the present, Hans._ In the last moment, the situation had changed yet again.

_The game isn't over yet after all._ The Queen had opened a new door of opportunity for him in his dead end, and he'd rushed through it into a whole lobby of doors hiding new but yet unknown options. He just needed to wait for them to present themselves. At the moment, the best thing to do was lie low, listen and learn, gather useful information and act humble, regretful and obliging. _I have to find out what she wants to see and show it to her, whatever it is._

He supposed heartrending, teary-eyed remorse would be quite high on that list. The Queen had seemed very _emotional_ about his actions, especially concerning Anna. Peculiar, that. She hadn't been nearly as upset about the attempted coup itself as she was about their hurt _feelings_. And the fight had gone out of her so quickly when he'd explained his point of view, it was most interesting indeed. He'd assumed her to be a cunning manipulator, a dangerous, vengeful foe who didn't shy away from murder, but the timidly polite woman in front of him hadn't fit that picture at all. She tried to present a haughty and regal picture, but behind it she was insecure. _Easily led and persuaded, maybe?_ And open, amazingly open about her feelings and thoughts. She did try to control herself and hide her true feelings, at least, but wasn't shrewd enough to cover them up by presenting artificial emotion in their place. She simply tried to repress them. And when she slipped, they whispered and flickered in her face, subtly giving her game away. It was almost charming in it's artlessness.

_She wasn't the only one who was recklessly open, though._ Hans shifted uncomfortably in his seat when he remembered how carelessly he'd aired his own thoughts. He'd said private things he'd never before admitted to anyone, just like that. He'd also lost his temper without meaning to, and that hadn't happened in years. It bothered him. There was something singular in the presence of the Queen, something that made him forget himself. _I need to be more careful around her._ Their encounter at the cell had been very odd, the air thick and crackling with some strange tension that he'd never felt before, some force that made them both imprudently candid. Granted, for him it had partly been exhaustion. He'd been so sure he'd lost everything that he simply hadn't bothered with the front anymore. Hans had thought it wouldn't matter, that he would be shipped off anyway no matter what he said, that he didn't have anything more to lose, and had simply let go. And maybe, on some level, he'd wanted Queen Elsa to understand him, see him, see why he'd done the things he had. He flexed his sword hand, deep in thought.

Thinking about how close he'd come to unnecessarily slaying her filled Hans with a nameless unease. He remembered her on the ice, crushed under her despair in the unnatural stillness. In the solitude of his cell, he'd gone through the events over and over again in his head, trying to see where he'd gone wrong, where he might have chosen differently, but every path he took ended up in swinging the sword. Had he been more passive, some of the Arendelle citizens would have died, and someone else would have decided to kill the witch. _I tried to avoid it, but I was fumbling in the dark_. There was no way he could have guessed that something apart from herself could control her magic.

Hans frowned, he still couldn't fathom what it was and who had found it out. Some forgotten magical artifact, perhaps? Was there a way to control her? Was there a way for _him_ to control her, and how could he get hold of it? He sighed, found his coffee empty and absentmindedly poured himself another cup under the keen eye of the guard. _Maybe he thinks I'll somehow tamper with the coffee and try to poison Her Majesty the Snow Sorceress._ He didn't much care for being treated as a suspicious low-life, but there was nothing he could do. He stirred his coffee a bit too forcefully and tried to assume an air of light detachedness. He certainly couldn't afford to sour the situation by appearing haughty or arrogant. He couldn't afford to displease Queen Elsa in any way, actually. So everything depended on Her Majesty and her royal whims, and all he could do was wait for her and then try to react to her moods and fulfil her wants. He wasn't used to being so infuriatingly passive and helpless. _Maddening,_ he thought, staring at the swirling, dark depths of his coffee cup.

_Who knows, maybe it will turn out to be pleasant._  
He'd really enjoyed his brief stint at power, though the emergency hadn't allowed him the time to make the most of it. But it had been inspiring to finally shoulder some actual responsibility and make weighty decisions. It was what he'd been trained for, even though he was too insignificant for a position of true authority in the Southern Isles. The Queen's praise had felt gratifyingly flattering. His ideas _had_ been quite insightful, if he said so himself, and it was very nice to have some recognition for one's efforts, for once. Hans' mood started to lift. Their mutual political enthusiasm had been pleasantly stimulating. He recalled the sudden sparkle in Queen Elsa's eyes, the excitement in her voice. It had pulled him in. _She has a taste for the game_, he sensed, _the thirst for victory through subtle manoeuvres._ And she _was_ very lovely. It might turn out to be delightful indeed to steer Arendelle by her side. Hans closed his eyes and dwelled on her image, a pale, almost ethereal vision in the dank dimness of the cell, her magic effecting even the air around her. The exceptional alternation of strength and fragility in her body language. Her enchanting little laugh. She was bewitching, really, and becoming more so the more time he spent around her. _Isn't that fitting? The bewitching witch._ He wondered distractedly if it was a trick, some spell to make him fall for her and then crush him. He was sternly telling himself to keep his guard up, when he heard the guard shift to attention. Hans turned around just in time to see Queen Elsa enter quietly through the doors, carrying a small folder and looking slightly nervous. _Here we go_. He plastered a smile on his face and bowed deep.

To his surprise, she dismissed the guard as soon as they'd got past the appropriate mundane pleasantries. When he lifted his brow at her, she glanced demurely at him.  
"I think it's best to sort out the particulars of our little understanding privately, don't you think?"  
"Oh, absolutely, Your Majesty. The less curious ears the better," he agreed, furiously trying to interpret her mood, "I just didn't expect you'd be eager to be left alone with a prisoner accused of high treason, ma'am." _Ah, don't remind her, idiot._ Queen Elsa raised her chin and gave him an arch look.  
"I'm quite sure I can deal with you myself, in case you'd be foolish enough to try anything, Prince Hans." In the soft sunlight filtering through the windows, her skin resembled flawless alabaster and the simple, becoming blue-grey dress she wore enhanced the startling depths of her eyes._You could deal with me, no doubt._ "Don't forget, I can do magic."  
"I'm sure I could never forget how magical you are, ma'am," he slipped out, far more softly than was proper. _Oh, damn._ Her eyes widened in shock, and he dearly hoped she hadn't taken offence. Vexing her with brazen flirting could be disastrous for him, he had to be more careful. She cleared her throat and gestured towards the adjoining small study.  
"Shall we, then?"

Queen Elsa had come prepared. The folder contained a meticulous draft of their agreement, detailing the terms of his servitude to her. He was to act as Her Majesty's private steward and advisor in matters of state while remaining a captive, he would answer only to her but would be privy to the affairs of the crown only at Her Majesty's discretion, he solemnly vowed to do all in his power to benefit Arendelle and it's ruler, et cetera. Success would lead to a reduced sentence, while any hint of deceit or sabotage would result in an immediate termination of the understanding, an increased sentence and a full reveal to his family, and so forth. _Very thorough,_ Hans noted appreciatively, going over the document. She certainly wasn't stupid or inept. It was a good sign, managing the realm with her would be that much easier if she had some sense in her pretty head.

He only had a couple of _minor_ additions to request. First, that the promise of keeping the truth from his family in exchange for his co-operation was explicitly marked down; second, that they would officially agree on the _exact_ lengths of both his sentence and its promised reduction after a trial period; third, that he would have some leisure time outdoors for five hours per week minimum, at least two of them in the presence of his horse; and fourth, that the true identity of Her Majesty's new steward would be kept secret not only from his family, but also from the world at large. The Queen very strongly objected to the last point, as he'd anticipated.

"You can't presume to keep your immoral treachery completely under wraps! Why would I allow you to hide your crimes from the world and pretend nothing ever happened? It's outrageous," she fumed, the temperature in the room dropping significantly. He countered her anger with a well-practised reply, taking great care to appear sincere.  
"Surely Your Majesty understands that word travels, and as soon as my, ah, _interesting_ situation becomes general knowledge, it will reach the Southern Isles as well? That would render all of my excuses or explanations useless," he implored. Her lovely features were set in a stubborn scowl, and he continued with a worried tone, "and I fear the confusion would affect _Arendelle_ unfavourably, as well." A flicker of hesitation flashed in her face. _Ah, yes. That gets to you._  
"The official stance of Arendelle outweighs any petty rumours," she stated, superficially confident, but he caught a tinge of doubt in her voice. _Careful now._  
"Of course, ma'am, but if I will sign official letters and documents with my own name, it will be plain fact, not rumours, that the stance of Arendelle will contradict," he explained, "and that might be damaging, Your Majesty, for the reputations of both your realm and yourself." She bit her lip, mulling it over. _Easy, easy, make it look like it's best for the kingdom._ "It might call the reliability of Arendelle's official statements into question, and if you'll permit me to say so, ma'am, after the recent, uh, _stormy_ events that have no doubt sparked plenty of wild gossip already, we really can't afford to have any more going around," he said, furrowing his brow in mock concern. The Queen shot him a sharp stare.  
"_We_, is it now?" Hans looked at her evenly.  
"I swore to advise you to the best of my ability and do all I could for Arendelle, Your Majesty. This is me advising you." She sighed and gazed past him into the middle distance, trying to make up her mind. Hans pressed on. "In the current delicate situation, it's really best for the realm to keep matters clear and simple and try to minimise any scandalous talk. A foreign prince serving a sentence for treason as Your Majesty's private steward would surely add buzz to the swarming gossip," he stated in a grave tone. "But an unknown commoner would be of no particular notice." _I'm pushing her too hard, I have to back down._ "However, the decision is yours, ma'am, and I'll happily submit to your will," he said humbly. "After all, I'd rather not be reduced to a _commoner_," he sniffed, as a final touch. Queen Elsa looked up at him, contemplating his face, weighing his words. Hans answered her stare and stayed silent, waiting, focusing on keeping his expression even. Finally, she reached a decision.

"Very well. Perhaps it is indeed best to have you assume a less noble identity," she sighed. He'd won the fist round. It was a good start. Queen Elsa eyed him, still wary, but with the tiniest whisper of playfulness behind it.  
"What shall we call you, then? An adaptation of your full name, I think." She realised something. "Actually, I don't think I know it," she admitted.  
"Does Your Majesty mean to tell me you can't name the family ruling one of your most influential neighbours?" He hoped slight teasing wasn't too much so soon after coaxing her into letting him hide his shame, but he wanted to make her comfortable around him. It was a gamble, and he very much hoped it would pay off. Peering at him, she took the challenge.  
"All right, give me a moment. Uh, Southern Isles - it's a multi-barreled name, four, isn't it – ah, wee-Westergård, Hallsten, um, Aldenborg- no, burg, berg?" she looked to him for confirmation, but he just twitched his eyebrows. "Oh, _fine_. Westergård, Hallsten, Alden_borg_, aaaand, ah, something-bjerg, wait, luck- Lyksbjerg!" She smiled, pleased with herself. "There! Did I get it right?"  
"Almost, well done. My family name is Westergård-Alden_burg_-Halsten-Lyks_borg_, Your Majesty." He grimaced. "I know it's a mouthful."  
"Four bloodlines of royalty, _most_ prestigious," she chuckled. "And your given names? I'm sure you have more than one, to balance out such an _impressive_ family name."  
"Oh, indeed I do, madam, I have four." He gave a seated parody of a flamboyant court bow and cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, I present myself to thee as your most humble servant; Prince Hans Christian Frederik Gustav Westergård-Aldenburg-Halsten-Lyksborg of the Southern Isles, at your service," he stated in an exaggerated, quivering voice. She giggled suddenly behind her hand, her eyes sparkling with mirth, the sound a bell dancing in the brightness. It was captivating.

"You have plenty of options to choose from, then," she said in a sombre tone, trying to appear serious.  
"Yes, it's very convenient." The odd lightness in his head spread to his tongue. "I can choose from a variety of identities and still claim them all as my own. I may have limited means in some respects, but when it comes to names, I have more than enough." The corners of her mouth twitched.  
"So, what will it be? I must say I hope you will keep your first name, it would be too confusing for me to start calling you Prince Gustav", she smiled.  
"I prefer the name I'm used to, as well, ma'am," he said, admiring her. "Perhaps then it would be easiest to just pick the first names, adapted to a humbler birth. _Westergård_ is the blueblood version of _Vestergaard_, which is a common name at the Isles."  
"You'd like to become Hans Vestergaard, then?" There was something in her tone that he couldn't catch.  
"With your approval, ma'am. "Hans Vestergaard" sounds unremarkable and insignificant compared with the blatantly royal "Prince Hans Westergård-Aldenburg-Halsten-Lyksborg of the Southern Isles" that I'm saddled with in reality," he said, confident that the quip would amuse her. It did.  
"Hans Vestergaard it is, then." She held out her hand, mockingly solemn. "Since we've reached an understanding, I welcome you into my employ, _Mr_. Vestergaard."  
Not thinking, he brought her hand almost to his lips before catching himself.  
"It is an honour, Your Majesty."

•••

They hesitantly embarked on the venture.

At first, the atmosphere crackled with stiff awkwardness, neither of them not quite knowing what to do or say. Where to start? Hans tried suggesting that they begin by drafting out some very general political guidelines, or some order of importance for matters to be dealt with – and that reminded her that in fact, she already had his first assignment in mind.

The Weselton High Council had approached her with an excessively grovelling, honeyed letter, dripping with shameless flattery and extravagant lamentations on the behaviour of the Duke, trying to cajole her into re-opening the trade relations. The Queen wanted to shape a suitably sharp, yet proper letter of definite termination of all diplomatic relations. Plainly put, she wanted to tell them to sod off, but was too regal and well brought up to do so. Instead, she wondered if prince Hans might have the verbosity to compose a superficially polite response that would nevertheless make very clear just what she thought of them? Her Majesty had picked the right man for the job. Hans took great delight in bringing his full arsenal of courteously poisonous quips to the table, especially so for _Weaseltown._ However, he felt it his duty to warn the Queen off from completely torching the bridge to her biggest trade partner, which tragically limited the amount of scorn and hints on bald midgets he dared to stuff between the lines - but it was a joy, in any case.

When they'd finished the draft, she went to transcript the missive herself. Hans politely stopped her, gently explaining that a letter by Her Majesty's own hand ought to be a particular, rare honour. Everyday communications, let alone cool refusals, should be written by the steward, in her name. Slightly embarrassed at the gaffe, she quickly agreed. After he'd carefully finished the letter, Hans hesitated for a heartbeat before signing it _Hans Vestergaard, Steward to Her Majesty Queen Elsa of Arendelle_. He contemplated the title while the ink dried. _So this who I am, for now._ He wondered idly what sort of man this Vestergaard would turn out to be.

The Weselton letter had cracked the ice, and they slowly eased into a delicate, tense balance, becoming immersed in going through Arendelle's general condition and drafting vague plans for the future. The most pressing matter was getting the country in shape to last through the incoming winter and everything that entailed. When the clocks of the palace sounded noon through the halls, Hans was genuinely surprised the day was already so far. The Queen suggested a small break for lunch, and he suddenly realised he was famished. A light lunch had been laid out in the room where he'd taken coffee, and after hesitating, Queen Elsa somewhat stiffly invited him to join her.

That was unexpectedly gracious. Her Majesty was proving to be fairly interesting, definitely much gentler than he'd assumed. Timid and fragile yet regal and strong-willed, and with the faintest undercurrent of mischief. _Very interesting indeed,_ he thought, watching her delicately open the door and leave the room, each movement a display of graceful poise. He found himself to be quite intrigued by her.

Hans' own experience with women in politics had been rather limited. In his understanding, women were mostly fickle, emotional, simple and vapid creatures, interested mainly in gossip, gowns, romance and other such frivolities. This view was shared by most of his brothers, and their collective experiences seemed to prove it right.  
Their lady mother, Queen Charlotta, was more interested in her pet dogs, the petty scandals of the court and triumphing over her ladies-in-waiting in the battlefield of fashion than the affairs of state – or her sons. Hans remembered her from his childhood as a distant figure, occasionally dropping by the nursery to see how her little darlings were doing, appearing and vanishing again in a rustle of silks like an apparition, the scent of perfume trailing after her the only proof that she had really been there. She was always accompanied by a flock of powdered, giggling and fussing ladies-in-waiting, exclaiming fashionably in Galterrean and pinching his cheeks, reminding him of exotic, loud and annoying birds. _Chère maman_ was not to be touched without permission, at least not by him, he'd learned that early on; it might ruin her dresses. You were never supposed to bother Her Majesty with anything unpleasant like a tedious squabble between the brothers, she only wanted to hear nice things, only wanted to see her sons behaving perfectly, like picturesque little angels. _Show them off like her prize dogs,_ he'd sometimes thought rebelliously. She would occasionally pet their heads and kiss their cheeks and inquire after their education, and then look absolutely disinterested with a distant, glazed look in her eyes when they recited their accomplishments to her. Granted, Her Majesty did have more affection for her older sons, the main heirs. And Hallbjørn, of course, _darling_ little Hallbjørn who could do no wrong. But the younger princes seemed to be of very little interest to her.

Then there was Helene, though Hans didn't remember her very well. He had been so young, his sister was just a faded memory now, a distant muddle of hidden pinches and insulting rhymes, the echo of a voice, a dusty portrait on the wall. But he supposed Helene hadn't demonstrated any dazzling political ability, either. From Her Majesty's frequent lamentations and the few other mentions he'd overheard, it seemed that the Princess of the Southern Isles had been expected to become a great sensation in court, beautiful and enchanting, with a voice like a nightingale, stars in her eyes and wings on her feet on the dance floor. And sometimes he'd caught shadows and insinuations in between the lines, whispering that perhaps her lovely eyes had wandered a little too freely and her delicate feet lifted a little too high, but he couldn't know for sure. In any case she was dead now, long dead.

When it came to other women, they all seemed to be alike, flirting and giggling and swooning with determined intent around the princes, especially the mains. Throwing them suggestive looks and handkerchiefs and locks of hair and other such silly romantic knickknacks, tittering at their every joke, no matter how stupid, competing for their attention and gloating at each other over every fleeting sign of affection the mains bestowed on them – as if any of it meant anything. _Catty, shallow and vain air-heads, the lot of them._

When he'd been younger and still a foolish child, he'd believed that women had strong hearts and that they meant the sweet things they said, but he'd seen time and time again it wasn't true. The words of women appeared to be weightless; empty niceties or outright lies. They promised and pledged and swore with every appearance of genuine sincerity, whispering their wows with tears in their eyes, but _all_ of them chased after prestige, rank and money, in the end. The Princes had turned it all into a sport, trying to snatch women from under each others noses, keeping a running score through the years and boasting of their conquests, and he'd seen almost every one of all the mistresses and _special little friends_ and even fiancées throw their promises and virtues to the winds when the hunt was on. He'd had some experiences himself, of course, he wasn't too bad looking and he knew how to flirt - but his chances weren't that high when his brothers were around. Showing interest in any particular lady was like sounding the horn to mark the start of the chase, and they always, always eventually fell prey to the older princes' advances. That one pesky memory tried to lift it's head again, and he briefly felt the familiar hollow sting before determinedly pushing it away. _I learned that lesson from the first, didn't I?_ And when he was on his own, he did quite well. Hans followed the Queen to the next room, contemplating her delicate neck, its tufts of white hair escaped from her hairdo and the hint of her shoulder blades the dress showed.

He'd thought all women were made of the same stuff, deep down. Anna definitely was. She was frivolous, giggly and superficial like the rest of them, thinking mainly of herself, romance, sweets and silly games, incapable of serious thought or long-term thinking. He almost frowned with ire. She'd thrown herself into a romance with a virtual unknown without a thought for her duties or reputation. Hans was certain that she hadn't cared all that much who she fell for, as long as they were there, handsome and royal enough. It was more about having a fabulous, heady romance with a dashing prince than about the actual man in question. If his elder brothers had been there, Anna wouldn't have looked at him twice, he was absolutely sure, despite all her noise about falling in true love with him. _True love!_ It was laughable. She hadn't even known what he was really like, and didn't seem to care.

The few bits of himself he'd shared with her hadn't seemed to register at all. Hans had told her that his youth had been painful, that he was desperate to leave the past behind - and she'd smilingly told him that she wanted to bring his past in to live with them. Anna had instantly forgotten the most important thing her "true love" had revealed to her about himself. She simply wasn't interested in who he was, not really. She only cared for what _she_ wanted, and the vision of a pack of princes constantly keeping her entertained had been more important than her fiancé's feelings on the matter. Hans felt his teeth grind together and had to consciously relax his jaw. No, he couldn't take the Queen's accusation about breaking Anna's heart seriously. The way she'd been going on, it was only a matter of time before _someone_ would have broken her heart, taken advantage of her and most likely taken her maidenhood, too. He, at least, had been honourable enough not to go so far.

Queen Elsa, however, was different. She seemed to be genuinely interested in politics and ruling and was mindful of the best interest of her realm - so much that she was able to put her personal feelings aside. She wasn't simple, ignorant or frivolous, far from it. She appeared timid and insecure, but also had determination and strength in her, he'd seen it. She was many different women merged in one, full of opposites, vulnerable and incredibly dangerous, timid and stern, proper and playful, ice and fire, flickering. It was absolutely fascinating. Hans found himself actually looking forward to working with her. That and lunch. _Two decent meals already, I could get used to this again._

The table held different breads and butter, pickled herring, almond-roasted cod, potatoes and some roasted vegetables, meatballs, various cold cuts, cheeses and a variety of seasonal fruit. For sweet there was an assortment of pastries. It was a good selection, simple but tasteful and mouth-watering. When they went to sit down, Hans saw the Queen suddenly give a tiny start and hesitate before seating herself. It was an informal little luncheon and there were no servants present, so he had to serve her. Queen Elsa hesitated again before gripping the serving utensils and quickly spooning each course on her plate with a curious, pinched expression on her face. By the time he'd also served himself and sat down, she was visibly tense. He wondered what on earth was suddenly bothering her so. His company, maybe? But why did she invite him to join her, then? He waited for Her Majesty to commence eating, so that he could start himself, but she sat unmoving, staring at her fork, her dainty little hands balled to fists. Her dainty, _ungloved_ little hands, now that he thought about it. At that instant, Hans remembered the scene at the coronation, the Queen's shrill panic when Anna stole her glove from her, her desperation to get it back, right before her power broke free. _Oh, no_. He watched her open her right fist, reach out and then falter, her hand hovering over the fateful fork. She held her breath and grabbed it, her lips pursed together in what he now recognised as concentration. She looked up, flashing a shaky attempt at a polite smile at him and started to eat in small and measured bites. He returned a pleasant smile back, pretending that nothing was amiss.

They ate in silence, but his mind was racing. _What is she afraid of?_ Afraid to touch things, but why? It had to do with her power, most likely. Was she afraid of it breaking out again? _Can't she control it, after all?_ An unpleasant tinge of apprehension started digging at his gut. Hans wondered if he was in danger, if there was a chance she would erupt with magical force and freeze his heart or skewer him with icicles. He carefully peeked at her from the corner of his eye. She was focusing on her eating like her life depended on it, radiating tension. Hans imagined the air felt cooler, too. Were they both in danger? And why hadn't she been like this when they'd been working? Had she simply forgotten about her power then, her mind occupied by their conversation? _Maybe I can distract her with banter._ Hans cleared his throat. _What the heck do I say?_ He searched around for a suitable topic of conversation. _Weather_, flashed in his mind. _The weather is always safe._

"Ahem. The summer has been very lovely here, hasn't it," he uttered, realising already as the words were leaving his lips how bad it sounded, considering the disastrous false winter she'd unleashed. The Queen dropped the bit of roast cod halfway to her mouth, staring at him with wide-eyed bewilderment, trying to figure out if he was mocking her. _Ah, drat._ He scrambled to patch it up. "I mean, apart from the disa- ah, I mean to say, I have never been in this region before, and the, the, the _disappearance_ of, ah, night, the darkness, is quite fascinating! Yes, the white summer nights this far north, the light - it's magnificent, I've never seen anything like it before." He managed to keep his tone even and light, and flashed her the best attempt at a conversational smile he could. She seemed to relax the tiniest bit, licked her lips and drew breath, forming a response.  
"Yes, thank you, the white nights are indeed very lovely. I've always found them somewhat magical," she replied politely, with a slight smile.  
"More magical than anywhere else, ma'am?" She squared her shoulders a fraction, he'd made a misstep.  
"I have not had the pleasure to travel, unfortunately," she said stiffly.  
"Ah, I see, of course. Your Majesty's royal duties must have kept you very busy in Arendelle." Her expression closed up.  
"Yes, my - my duties." There was something there, something big hidden behind her suppressed tone. _Was she about to say something else?_

Hans thought of her more closely, of how subdued she was in company, how her own subjects had seemed to be completely unacquainted with their new Queen, how the castle - the country - had been closed up and how her powers had been kept a secret from everyone. Hans stopped chewing when it hit him. _She can't control her powers, but no-one knew about them, not even Anna._ How was that possible, actually? Elsa just shut me out, Anna had said, and he'd assumed the Queen had just turned distant and cold or ignored her - but had she meant it literally, with an actual door involved? Had the Queen shut _everybody_ out? Or shut herself_ in_? He swallowed and mechanically continued eating for appearances' sake. The mustard-pickled herring was very good, just the kind he enjoyed, but it tasted like cardboard to him now. The more he thought about it the more it fit together.

Her powers were dangerous and frightening and beyond her control. Hence, interacting with other people presented a terrible risk and was best to be avoided. Arendelle had been shut off from the outside world save for the essential trade connections for the long period between the late King's death and the new Queen's coronation, an unusual decision sparking rampant rumours no-one had officially contradicted. Queen Elsa was very green and inexperienced with the rule, sorely needing his assistance, but she should already have been the de facto monarch for years, settling into her reign. Instead, the crown affairs had been neglected for a long time - three years, perhaps, ever since King Agdar died? Hans had assumed the Queen, in typically irresponsible female fashion, had simply not cared about politics, but what if she hadn't been _able_ to rule, being isolated? It was enormous, if it was indeed true. And if it was, since when? Hans felt queasy, dizzy at the precipice of the reveal. _Impossible._ The very idea was ridiculous. The crown princess, locked away like a prisoner, hidden away from the world instead of preparing to take her place at the reins of Arendelle? _What the deuce has been going on in this kingdom?_

Hans knew that it was very important for ascending rulers to be acquainted with their realms and their people before seating the throne. It smoothed the transition of power and created a comforting sense of stability. The new monarch should overlap with the old in the minds of the people, so they always felt that their ruler was the natural and familiar figure of authority. But if Queen Elsa had been in hiding until the coronation... _No wonder the people of Arendelle accepted - no, welcomed my command so willingly_, he thought. _Their own queen was a stranger to them._ He sneaked another sideways look at the Queen. _Has she truly been in hiding for most of her life?_ The curiosity burned him, but he didn't dare to ask her. It was far too intrusive, far too soon, the subject was plainly too sensitive. It would only unnecessarily rile her up and complicate things for him. Maybe, if she got too upset, she might even attack him with her magic, like she'd done with Anna. No, it would be total, dangerous folly.

And yet, he knew he had to ask.  
It was something he really should know, as her steward, Hans admitted to himself, with a hopeless, sinking feeling. It affected the way she dealt with the world. Through her, it affected the way _Arendelle_ functioned and dealt with the world. He _needed_ to know if the Queen could be trusted to be in public, or if she might set off another accursed blizzard or impale some ambassador on an icicle at the slightest provocation, for heaven's sake. He gathered his courage. _Cut straight to it, before you chicken out_. The question had to be presented diplomatically, but how?

"Your Majesty, I hope we might clear some practical things. As your steward, I will occasionally need to address matters that are displeasing to you, and even disagree with you, if it's in Arendelle's best interest, am I correct?"  
"You are," she said, surprised at the direction of the conversation. "I want you to clearly state your opinion when needed, even if it clashes with mine."  
"And if I need to ask about sensitive, unpleasant things, which are still crucial information needed to manage the realm? How would Your Majesty like me to breach those vexing, more distasteful subjects?" He kept his tone pleasantly conversational.  
"Just be direct with me, Prince Hans," the Queen said plainly. She picked up her glass, swirled it thoughtfully and gave him a dry little smile. "I think that you and me, we don't need to beat around the bush too much when it comes to distasteful things any more, what with the attempted decapitation and all." _ Oh, she's joking about it now?_ The weight on his mind eased slightly.

"Very well, Your Majesty." He drew a deep breath and plunged in headfirst. "Exactly how well can you control your powers?" She gave a start, and the wine glass in her hand erupted into a glittering bouquet of sharp icicles, reaching into every direction from where she touched the glass. It was amazing to witness, amazing and very unnerving. _Not well at all, then._ Hans felt his gut tighten with fear. Queen Elsa almost threw the glass on the table as if it burnt her and snatched her hands away from it. She shot him an alarmed look full of distress.  
"That is none of your concern!" Her voice bordered on shrill. The air cooled significantly, underlining her ire. It was bad, he had to placate her somehow. Hans went with being matter-of-fact, choosing his words carefully and presenting them in as calm and dominant tone as he could, like soothing a frightened horse.

"Your Majesty, I'm afraid it is. As your steward, I _must_ know exactly what the circumstances are is in this matter, to better help you manage the realm. It is essential information that affects _everything_, and it has to be taken into consideration. Your powers _cannot_ be allowed to accidentally get out of hand again, ma'am. I _have_ to know if people around Your Majesty risk being frozen solid if you get upset. Surely you can see that." The Queen flinched, and the air chilled further to the point of sharp crispness. She looked hurt and pained, withdrawn in her thoughts while some small snowflakes started to lazily swirl through the air around her, and suddenly Hans remembered her on the fjord, begging him to take care of Anna. And then he identified the pain in her face, it was _guilt_, guilt mixed with deep fear and terror, and all of a sudden he realised with a whoosh that it hadn't been an intentional hit at all, that Queen Elsa had almost frozen her dear sister to death by _sheer accident_. His fear grew and skittered through him, and his mouth felt ashen. _Good lord. If her own sister isn't safe around her, who is?_

Suddenly, the Queen snapped out of her thoughts and looked straight at him, frightened and frantic like a threatened animal. Their eyes met before Hans had the time to fix his expression and she caught his fear, he saw the shift upon her face, felt the wave of even colder air start to prickle his cheeks. He expected her to get enraged - but she made a small sound and tried to get up, and the tabletop broke out in icy flowers at her touch. She drew back, breathing heavily, inching away, holding her balled hands to her chest, he recognised the pattern, she was going to try to flee like she had done at the coronation ball. Through the haze of fear rushing through him, Hans felt an echo of the desire to protect and comfort he'd felt then. _I can't let her go, not again. Calm her down, break through to her, come on, man, think._ What did she need to hear? She was hunched, afraid, ready to flee. _Security,_ he realised. _Safety. Control. She's panicking, she needs some-one to tell her what to do._

Hans fought to subdue his own fear. He had to take control of the situation, appear calm and in charge. Appearance was everything when it came to authority. When you behaved like you had it, it often followed. Hans loaded his voice with all the calm military authority he could muster, hoping it was enough to hide his nervousness from her.  
"Queen Elsa, if your powers are not fully under your control at the moment, we will simply have to _learn_ to control them," he said slowly and emphatically. She twitched and shot him a look of desperate misery.  
"I _can't!_ I've tried, tried so _hard_ to shut it out and not to feel, but I just can't, the fear is too strong, it keeps coming back!" _Not to feel? Fear?_ Was it all somehow tied to her emotions? _Can it be – is she afraid of herself?_  
"Calm down, Your Majesty. I will help you," he stated, holding his hands out. "Surely it's just a matter of practice," he tried, absolutely not sure at all. She was incredulous.  
"Help? _How?_ What do _you_ know about practising magic, Prince Hans?" Her tone was still distraught, but she'd stopped inching away. He sensed that she wanted to believe him, wanted to believe he could somehow know what he was talking about. Hans chose his words very, very carefully.  
"About magic, not much, ma'am, but I have practised my way into many skills, like swordplay, riding, some languages, warfare and several ridiculously complex court dances, and frankly I can't see why magic should be any different. They say practice makes perfect, repetitive practice, and I have plenty of experience in _that_." He forged out a confident smile. "You will learn to control it, ma'am, I am _sure_," he lied, holding her with his eyes. Queen Elsa stared at him with an unidentifiable expression, clutching her hands at her heart, fragility and need written plain across her being, her mesmerising sky-blue eyes brimming with some unidentifiable, deep emotion. The coldness started to ease. _I have her now_, he thought. _Keep talking, convince her, quick._ "We simply have to approach the matter analytically, start from the very basics and work our way from there, and I am _confident_ that with enough time and practice, you will learn to fully master your gift, Your Majesty," he coaxed with a low, persuasive voice.

She was hanging on his words now, he saw, desperate to lean on someone, her lips slightly parted as she listened to him, captivated, ready to follow his lead. What more to say? _I have to lead her away from the fear, make her comfortable._

"I saw the _breathtaking_ palace you created on the mountain, ma'am," he purred, "and if you have enough control over your power to create something that beautiful and detailed, _you have it in you_ to control the rest of it, Your Majesty. There can be no doubt about it. It is only a question of finding the right method." He tuned his demeanour to give off an air of reliability. _I have to make myself seem indispensable to her. In charge, Hans, come on._ "Together, we _will_ find the way, ma'am, I promise you," he lied smoothly, a picture of dependable certainty. The Queen drew a long, shaky breath, and the coldness finally evaporated from the room. She lowered her hands from her heart, more relaxed now but still wavering. Hans aimed his final strike with care. "You mentioned fear, ma'am. Am I right to assume that strong emotions, particularly fear, propel your powers beyond your control?" he inquired, painstakingly lightly. She hesitated and then gave a quick, bashful nod. He radiated agreeability at her as hard as he could. "Well, there's absolutely nothing to fear now, Your Majesty, unless you're afraid of _me_," he grinned, risking a tease. "Are you?"  
"No," she said, quietly but firmly, staring deep into his eyes. "No, I'm not afraid of you."  
"Good," he said softly. "Sit down, Your Majesty." He gestured at the table. "Let us finish eating, and then we'll begin your training. Ma'am." It was a command, masked behind polite etiquette – and she followed it. He'd managed to seize control, the authority was his for the moment. _What a stroke of luck, to hit upon something she needs so badly on the first day._ Hans almost felt bad lying to her.

But was he really fully lying? He bore her no real ill will, in all honesty she had been quite gracious towards him considering everything. It felt very good to see how she needed him, relied on him, he couldn't deny it. He was _flattered_ by it. Her vulnerability and need awoke in him a faint but genuine want to deliver on his false promises, be a man worthy of her trust, helping and protecting a woman in distress. _Who knows_, he thought cheerfully. _Maybe it'll all turn out to benefit us both._

•••

They ended up both being too tense to properly finish the meal, and simply took a plate of cheese and fruit with them to the study after finishing the main course. While he'd been eating, Hans had frantically tried to come up with a functional method for learning to control a seemingly uncontrollable, unheard-of magical ability. He intensely hoped he hadn't promised too much. It was crucial to look like he actually knew what he was doing in order to keep the mental upper hand he'd gained over the Queen.

The only thing he could think of was to start with analysing how her powers behaved on the most basic level; when did they manifest, how did it feel in her body, what seemed to affect them and how, was she able to control them at all, if so, when and how, how did that feel and so on. Hans figured that there _had_ to be some consistency. She'd created an intricate palace straight out of a fairy tale and a murderous snow giant to guard it, so she had some control. And where there was some control, there could be _more_, with proper cultivation and disciplined practice. At the very least, they had to find some way for the Queen to cope with her powers, even if it turned out she couldn't gain complete control. _If they're truly tied to her emotions, she might never fully master them,_ he thought dryly, remembering the endless remarks his brothers had made on the uncontrollable sentimentality of women. Oh well, they had to try.

It was clearly new and awkward for Queen Elsa to talk about her powers so openly, at first, but he kept asking questions in a neutral tone, writing her answers neatly down on a sheet of paper, hoping that he would spot some pattern when all of the information was systematically marked down, and she soon got used to it. It was somehow surreal to hear her flatly describe exactly how it felt when magic tingled at her fingertips and talk about a magical childhood. She'd been born with it. Her parents had accepted and guided her. Her powers acted mainly through her hands, hence the gloves. They'd steadily grown in strength as she grew. They were tied to her emotions, and fear made them especially strong, stronger than her. That made her more afraid, and her powers more volatile in turn, and so forth. As a child, she'd had better control, but some shocking _incident_ had happened, and she'd been locked in her room ever since to keep her powers hidden. After that, she'd interacted almost only with her parents, until her coronation day.  
"So that I wouldn't hurt anybody," she said, staring somewhere into her memories with an anguished expression. Hans guessed that must have been the "shutting out" Anna had mentioned. He had a hunch the incident was related to Anna, her not remembering Elsa's magic and her strand of white hair, but he didn't want to break the rhythm of their questioning.

However, he couldn't resist asking how old she had been, and was slightly shocked when he calculated that Queen Elsa had been almost totally isolated for over 13 years. _No wonder she's a bit clumsy with social trivialities._ Hans felt vaguely embarrassed when he remembered how breezily he'd chalked her social rigidity up to being haughty and proud. She simply hadn't been able to hone her social graces like other people had. Hans didn't think his own childhood a very happy one, but he, at least, had been allowed full reign to roam free, to interact with people, to watch, listen and learn, to experience and see and do. He thought of his adolescence, the stormy transition from childhood to adulthood, of all the painful lessons he'd had to experience to learn to navigate the murky, rocky shoals of social relations. It had taken him years to learn to properly interpret people's behaviour and gestures, expressions and silences, how people said one thing and meant the other and how to decipher the truth behind the performance everyone put up. He thought of how experiences slowly wore the wide-eyed naivety of youth off everyone in court. _All those years_, he thought, contemplating the Queen, _alone. How did she manage it?_ The more he thought about it, the more sympathy, even pity, he felt for her._ It's like a prison sentence._ Except that prisoners usually did something to earn being locked up. Queen Elsa had simply been born with something she couldn't help.

He inquired how she'd tried to control her powers, to gauge what did and didn't work, and was astonished when she explained she'd mainly tried not to feel anything, to repress all her dangerous emotions that made the powers manifest. _Instead of dealing with it, she's tried to pretend it's not there, hoping that it will just go away if she'll lie absolutely still and play dead,_ he realised. But it hadn't gone away, far from it. Her powers had kept growing, and her fear with them. _Of course, she's only human._ How could anyone expect a young girl to freeze herself up from the inside, suffocating all feelings forever? He looked at the exhausted, miserable way the Queen stared at her hands and felt ire bristle faintly somewhere at the back of his head. _It was incredibly stupid,_ he thought, _to stubbornly keep trying and failing at not feeling anything, year after year after year._ Why hadn't they tried any other way? Why hadn't they accepted the realities and tried to control what was there, instead of sealing the Crown Princess in her room to live in fear and desperate self-loathing, demanding her to succeed at the impossible or perish? _King Agdar, rest his soul, may have been the kindest and gentlest of men, but he was a bloody fool nonetheless._

Still, Queen Elsa had obediently kept trying - and failing. It had mostly been all right when she'd just been in her room, but venturing out - even thinking of it - had triggered her fear and the power with it. The memory obviously pained her. How did it feel, Hans wondered, to helplessly witness your body act up with a frightening, alien force, growing stronger every day? To imprison and isolate yourself in order to protect other people, because your presence might accidentally kill them; how does it feel, he thought, to fear yourself for so many years, to see yourself as some hellish abomination? _I can't even begin to imagine it,_ he realised.

And yet, she'd gone ahead with the coronation.

Hans couldn't understand why. With all her crippling fear, her crushing lack of social experience, the risk of superstitious backlash from her people - why on earth had she not abdicated? She must have understood that failure was inevitable. Yes, of course, she admitted. Then why go on with it?  
"It was my duty," she stated simply. "I was the crown princess, and I would not run from my responsibility." She pinned him down with her eyes, daring him to disagree, emanating regal determination with every fiber of her being. He stared at her, trying to think of something to say.

_Perhaps the ridiculous stubbornness runs in the family,_ he thought. _Apparently she's just as bloody mule-headed as her father._ But still, he couldn't help respecting her sense of responsibility. _She walked straight into the fire with her eyes open and her head held high._ He looked into her eyes, seeing hints of the same resigned determination he'd seen on the faces of men accepting missions they knew they would never return from, and realised that Queen Elsa had fully expected to go down in the line of duty, so to speak. It was stupid, impractical and unnecessary, but it was very admirable. _She has guts, I have to give her that._ Truly, she was an exceptional woman.

However, wallowing on the horrors of the past was pointless. Hans shook himself out of his reverie. They were supposed to find out how to control her power and not marvel at its strength.  
"It's very tragic Your Majesty had to go through so much, but eventually, you found some way to control your power, didn't you," he inquired. "How did you manage to thaw the kingdom, or Princess Anna's heart, in the end?" _Who kissed her? What the heck happened?_ He struggled to keep his voice and expression neutral, but he was dying to know just what could control her astonishing power. _Careful now, keep your cool._ He had to try appear nonchalant. The Queen looked vaguely uncomfortable.  
"Yes, well. She threw herself in front of, ah, your sword, out of love for me - and _that_ turned out to be the act of true love that melted her heart, in the last possible moment. Luckily." She gave a very deep, shuddering sigh. "And then I was so relieved and happy that Anna was alive that I forgot the fear, and I realised that it's not kisses but l_ove_ that thaws, _my_ love as well, and I was able to find the right emotional state of mind to thaw the frost. So, it was love." She sighed again and took a grape from the plate, popping it in her mouth.

_Well._

_At least there's no way I could have guessed that_, he thought, vaguely disappointed. In a way, then, he had been behind the act of love that saved Anna after all - or at least he'd provoked her into it. _She picked a fine moment to finally think of someone other than herself, didn't she,_ he thought sulkily. Hans scribbled "love thaws" on the note and scowled at the words, thinking about what might have happened if he'd held on to the lie of his love till the end, or spent just a couple of moments more talking to the Queen, hesitating just a little while longer. He closed his eyes for a while. _So close._ Ah well.

"What do you think?" Queen Elsa's voice was quiet, but it snapped him out of his musings.  
"Hm?"  
"Of me – of my situation." She looked nervous, shy, even. "Do you think it's hopeless? _Is it monstrous, am I monstrous_, Hans heard in her tone.  
"No, it's not hopeless at all," he said, gathering his thoughts. She was scrutinising him intently.  
"Be honest with me," she said unexpectedly. "What do you think?" Hans felt she was asking something else, something more. He took his time, deliberating on his words.  
"I think it's very unfortunate that you haven't actively tried to train your gift before, but only tried to suppress it. I think you might have been spared some great distress and suffering if it all had been approached differently." He was silent for a while. "Bad things don't disappear when one pretends they don't exist, ma'am," he said, quietly. "Enemies have to be faced to be conquered." She was still staring at him inquisitively.  
"You were afraid of me, just now," she said. It wasn't a question.  
"Yes," Hans admitted. An obvious lie would do nothing but damage. "I hadn't understood before that your powers were so far beyond your control that you struck your sister by accident, ma'am. The realisation shocked me." She looked stricken.  
"Did you think I _meant_ to freeze Anna's heart?" He nodded. "B-but, why? Why would I want to harm her," she demanded, alarmed.  
"It's what she told me, Your Majesty," he said, skirting the question. She opened her mouth, but only managed a small grunt of disbelief. "She told me simply that you froze her heart, nothing more. I never thought it could have been an accident." The Queen seemed to shrink in front of him, looking so pitiful and wretched that sympathy arose in him. "I didn't know you then, Your Majesty," he blurted out. She buried her face in her hands. "I was afraid your power would get out of hand again, just now, but it didn't. You brought it back under control," he tried to soothe her.  
"I didn't," she mumbled after a while. "It was you."  
"We brought it back under control _together_, then," he said. She peeked at him through her fingers. He smiled at her, reassuringly.

•••

Practising her powers in the main rooms was too impractical and risky. The ice might damage the rooms and unnerve the servants, especially if they saw the Queen struggling with it. It was imperative that no gossip would start to circulate of how Her Majesty couldn't control her own powers after all. They needed a discreet, sturdy place, so out of the way that neither sound nor the cold would carry to the living quarters. The cells were a natural choice. Aside from him, no-one was held there, so they could be alone. Hans felt weird walking past his cell. At the end of the corridor was the cell that had held the Queen herself and that was still under repair, and next to that was the one most solidly encased in rock, one wall consisting of the very bedrock of the island the castle was built upon. They picked that one.

They stood silently in the dimness while he tried to think of where to start. The Queen was looking at him expectantly. _You didn't think this through at all, did you_, the voice whispered in his ear. _She'll see through your facade. You'll fail._ He pushed his nervousness back and cleared his throat. _In charge, Hans._  
"Well. The basics are the first thing in learning anything. We'll start with simple exercises. Could Your Majesty, uh, freeze something?" She blinked at him. "Anything. Maybe create some snow," he tried. Queen Elsa breathed deep, focused, reached out with her hand - and pure magic sprang forth from the palm of her hand, supernatural sparkles dancing in the air and turning into swirling snowflakes. A smallish snowdrift manifested on the floor.  
Hans felt his heart skip a beat. It was one thing to know of magic or to see it's results, but actually seeing it happen in front of his own eyes, from such close proximity, was breathtaking and surreal. He let out a small gasp, excitement tingling in him._ Look at you, getting giddy like a child at the sight of some snow._ He suppressed his awe, forcing himself to appear stoic.  
"Good. Now, melt it, and pay attention to how it feels in your body while you do. Which magical muscles do you use, so to speak." The Queen puckered her eyebrows in concentration and moved her hands upwards, and her graceful gesture seemed to lift the snow into the air, where it evaporated. The air cooled markedly.  
"Do you need to focus harder to thaw it, ma'am? Does it feel different?" He hesitated. "How do you do it?"  
"Yes, it's different. Creating it is so much easier, I just - I just _feel_ it, imagine it, and it happens. But thawing requires more effort, I have to consciously force it away, and it's tricky. I have to, in a way, embrace it, and feel happy and love it, and then I can sort of feel the individual ice-flakes and move them around," she explained slowly and shyly, looking for the right words. Hearing her describe doing something that should be impossible felt very curious, he felt something not unlike wonder. _What am I doing? How did I end up training a witch in the use of magic?_ And how on earth would he keep being believable at it? He faintly suspected he was in way over his head.

"Then, again, create some snow, paying attention to how it feels, and then thaw it, ma'am."  
"I already did that, Prince Hans. I just showed you," she said, confused.  
"All skills are honed into perfection the same way, Your Majesty, through repetition. Even though one already knows how to do something, true mastery is achieved through repeating the basics over and over and over again, until they become almost natural reflexes and can be performed perfectly without thinking – and repeated further still to keep the skill supple and alive. For example, when I was learning the sword, I practised the very basic moves every day, so that performing them became as natural as breathing. I still practice, as often as I can. In the heat of the battle, one cannot afford to have to think of how to parry or strike, it has to be _instinctive_," he explained. "The same goes doubly for you, ma'am. Thawing anything has to become so natural, so instinctive to you that you can do it almost without thinking, in _any_ situation. Even if you're afraid, under attack or filled with grief." He felt himself grow more confident as he spoke, he was back on familiar ground. "You _have_ to learn to be able to control your powers in very emotionally distressing situations, Your Majesty. No matter the emotion, you must be able to remain in charge through it. You _will_ remain in charge. You _will_ practise your way into that level of mastery. It may take time, but you _will_ reach it, ma'am. I will help you." He spoke to her in a calm voice laden with authority, with the tone full of certain victory he'd heard captains use to encourage the troops before a skirmish. Queen Elsa stood shimmering in the darkness. The hem of her dress was glistening with frost-flowers and her eyes were sparkling with battle-will and excitement as she raptly listened to him. _The faerie mistress of winter_, Hans thought suddenly. She looked radiant and otherworldly, and Hans felt her enthusiasm spread to him, binding them together in their endeavour. "Now, do it again."

–

* I have no idea if "lilac-pavilion" is the correct term. (EDIT: It's called a bower, I changed it. Thanks, suburbanbeatnik!) Around here, people sometimes have large lilacs grown in a circle, so you get a "pavilion" where you can take tea or coffee in the summer, in the middle of leaves and flowers, they are very nice. I think they were considered "fancy" in Scandinavia around that time, so I'm guessing the Arendelle castle garden would have one. If anyone has a better term, I would love to hear it!  
A picture, so you might get a better idea:  
_KbMZUuC9znA/Sjnh-7j_

** I have very little imagination, so I based Hans' family name on the actual name of the Royal family of Denmark. It's **house of Schleswig-Holstein-Sonderburg-Glücksburg.** Apparently when great noble or royal families unite, they don't want to give up on the prestige and history associated with either name, so instead they just slap them together. Especially if a house is very powerful for a very long time, they ally with other powerful families through marriages, and over the centuries you get such impressive multi-barreled names. It's a subtle way of underlining how _very_ noble and old and well-connected the family is. To use a Game of Thrones analogy, Hans might have a family name of "Lannister-Tyrell-Baratheon-Stark", or "Ser Related-to-Everyone-Who's-Important-and-powerful".


	4. where a queen falls

Frozen premiered around a year ago, yay!  
I'm trying to improve my writing and make it smoother, and had to rewrite this and ended up changing the plot a bit after becoming frustrated and argh why is writing so hard. I hope you enjoy it, after all the sweat. Sorry it took so long.  
I think I'll give up on the strict he-she narrator format, since I want to do so many things with each perspective the chapters end up super long, taking forever. I'll break the long POVs up to shorter chapters, so there'll be several consecutive chapters with each narrator. Hopefully, this will lead to easier editing and more frequent updates. Hopefully!

IV

_where a queen falls_

Elsa awoke with a start just when the last of his hair turned white, and at first she couldn't remember where she was. She lay panting in the darkness, sorting the real from the not-real in her mind. The bedposts were patterned with thick hoarfrost, a result of her fervent struggle for control in the dream. She sighed and started to slowly thaw it, with her eyes closed for practice.

Nightmares had always been her frequent visitors. Just after the great thaw she'd frozen Anna solid every time she closed her eyes, seen her sister crack under her touch and start to melt, and _those_ dreams had made her enter sleep with dread and leave it screaming. But recently, her dreams had shifted from petrifying to confusing and enigmatic.

Prince Hans had started to skulk around in them. Sometimes she could only catch glimpses of him or only sense his presence, sometimes he hid his face or stood in the shadows, but she always knew it was him.

The manner of his presence perplexed her. She ought to have dreamed of him as a threat, someone to avoid or destroy. But in her dreams Elsa was constantly chasing after him, trying to open locked doors hoping he'd be behind them or running around the empty castle with an important document she couldn't read, needing him to translate it for her. In her dreams, she _needed_ him. Occasionally _he_ needed _her_, like in the dream where his wide, fixed smile had turned out to be a garishly painted mask stuck on his face, grinning eerily. It had been suffocating him, and she'd spent the dream desperately trying to get it off. She'd awoken just when she'd smashed it, about to see the real visage underneath.  
People still froze in her dreams, but now it was Prince Hans instead of Anna. He kept starting to freeze completely on his own, and that unnerved her.

Elsa peeked out from between the bed curtains, saw that it wasn't _too_ early to get up and crawled out of bed. Trepidation frothed inside her, and she tried to calm herself with some freezing exercises for speed and accuracy. Creating tight snow chunks in the air, she tried to evaporate them before they hit the ground. She'd gotten so good at it she dared do it in her own rooms now, without risk of ruining the carpet. A few quick rounds eased her mind, as usual. She tried thawing and refreezing so fluidly a single snowball appeared to joyfully bounce in the air around the room. The feel of control hummed pleasantly through her, and the delight of play made Elsa giggle out loud. Finally, she made the snow vanish in a brilliant burst of ice.

Her spirits were lifted, but she frowned. She owed it to _him_, his guidance and determination, all this new positivity and confidence. Elsa was finally getting on her feet, yes, but she was heavily leaning on Prince Hans. So heavily she felt guilty about it.  
He was a traitor, after all. A treacherous, murderous traitor. He probably harboured vengeance in his heart and spent his every waking moment plotting some kind of cruel revenge. The problem was that his true nature was easy to forget in his captivating, pleasant company. _It's a trick, a lie,_ caution whispered whenever he smiled at her, his green eyes twinkling, _he wants you dead, never forget it,_ and she knew the warning rang true, but it was so hard to remember.

In the early days of their arrangement, she'd vigilantly kept her guard up, ready for anything, be it subtle sabotage or blatant boot-licking. She'd suspected his every word, privately re-inspected every document in an attempt to catch him in _something_, but had found nothing amiss. He was flawlessly polite and his suggestions were excellent advice, no matter how she looked at them. He only asked questions concerning his job, all of them aimed towards helping her rule. Or control her power.

That was another thing.  
No-one had ever been like that regarding the frost. He enthusiastically encouraged her to use it, not extinguish it. Elsa feared but also secretly loved her special might. It was a part of her, and denying it had always felt somehow impossible. Somehow _wrong_, no matter how much she wanted it all to go away. _Everyone who knew always tried to make it go away_, she mused, setting off a swirl of snowflakes on her palm, _except for him_. She stared at the complex dance of the ice, shimmering in the early gloom, lost in thought.

On their first day, she'd forgotten her gloves, and the looming embarrassment had unsettled her so much the frost had broken free again. The fear had almost claimed her - but Prince Hans had broken through it. _You can learn to control it, I am sure_, he'd said, and Elsa had heard an echo of her father's voice in his words, like a beacon guiding her in the storm. His voice and eyes had been full of the sweet promise of security, and she'd helplessly clung to the lifeline of his words.  
She'd been so bewildered and exhausted that when the traitor had wanted her to answer the most intimate questions anyone had ever asked her, she'd simply given in. It had felt like a horrible mistake, but she didn't have it in her to resist him. And did it even matter? He'd already seen so much, might as well show him the rest, too.

Discussing her power openly with him had made her feel painfully exposed at first, like she was revealing shameful, intimate secrets. _Well, I was, in a way._ But instead of recoiling in horror when he learned how things really were, Prince Hans had treated it all with calm matter-of-fact practicality. No wide-eyed gasps or hand-wringing. Elsa liked it. She twirled her fingers, and the miniature snow blizzard morphed into a single clear intricate snowflake, bright and beautiful, turning soundlessly in the air.

Your _gift_, he'd said, not your _curse_.

He was good on his word. Every day, after hours of navigating the affairs of state, they spent several more learning to understand and control her power through exercise, trial and error. In the cell, they shared an enthusiasm for discovery, rejoicing in her steady progress. With rigourous practice, she finally started to gain the upper hand over the frost. She could feel herself grow more confident each day.  
She also grew more accustomed to Prince Hans each day. More than that, if she was honest. It hadn't even been a fortnight, but she'd grown to _like_ his presence somewhat, sideburns and all. Elsa squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her hand into a fist so tight her nails bit into her palm. The bright ice-flake crushed into tiny shards and vanished.

It was just another ruse. He'd be a total dimwit to openly defy her now, and he was far from dumb. No, the snake would play nice, gain her trust and then strike when she didn't expect it. Elsa knew it, knew that she was a fool to allow him within a knife's reach, knew that she should hate him more. She owed it to Anna to hate him more. _Remember what he did. Remember what he is. His smiles are laced with poison._ Who knew poison could feel so sweet, though? _Weak, weak girl_, she seethed at herself.

A dangerous, treacherous, vengeful, heartless traitor. An indispensable, handsome, pleasant, dashing steward. The man was a confounded mystery. _Maybe I'm not strong enough to play against him after all. I'm dancing with fire, and I should lock him back up and throw away the key before I burn myself._ But he was holding up his end of the bargain, and she'd given her word.  
Elsa opened her eyes and her fist, staring at the red markings her nails had made in her skin. She would continue on the current course, she decided, but remain aware of the treacherous rocks and violent currents hiding under the calm surface. Anticipate the inevitable betrayal, but make full use of him and his ideas for now.

One of those ideas was the very reason she was so nervous this morning. She seated herself at her vanity and started to open her braid, hearing his words in her head.

"Your Majesty, we must improve your relationship with your subjects," he'd said a couple of days earlier. "The people of Arendelle may be good and kind, but also simple and superstitious, and you, If I may be so bold, ma'am, are a sorceress who almost froze them all to death on the first day of your reign. That's a disastrous first impression, one I fear will haunt you, ma'am." She'd flinched at his words, but she knew they were true.  
"I've already shown them the fun side of my powers and given a public apology," she'd tried meekly.  
"It was crucial that you did, but once is nowhere near enough, ma'am," he'd retorted.  
"The public works – couldn't someone else, in my name -" He'd shook his head, and she'd trailed off, mid-sentence.  
"Your Majesty, let me be frank. People tend to think those who hide have _something_ to hide. You hid all your life, concealing your powers – and then devastated the entire kingdom when you finally emerged." Elsa had winced. "If you start to hide again, ma'am, people will fear that eventually you'll curse everything again, as well. Wild rumours will start to circulate about the witch-queen lurking in her castle, doing lord knows what ungodly things with her magic behind her walls, and they will turn on you." He had stared at her until she'd stopped fidgeting and had met his eyes. "That must not happen, Your Majesty."  
She'd started to nod slowly to his words as he'd gone on.  
"You cannot afford to be a mysterious figure any more. Make a clean break with the past, ma'am. Interact with your people, show them that you are not dangerous or vengeful. Instead, display love and forgiveness, ma'am, and they'll reflect it back."

_Love and forgiveness,_ Elsa thought, brushing the last knots out of her hair, _the great universal champions_. When her hair shone, she bowed her head down and let her tresses fall over her face, covering the rest of the world behind a soft, white haze._ Wouldn't forgottenness suit me better?_ She started to twist and attach her hair into a braid-crown bun. Her fingers weaving through her hair seemed to whisper softly to her, and it reminded her of an especially nasty part of the conversation.

"Whispers," she'd breathed, "You don't think they'll whisper about me, do you?"  
"_Of course_ they will, Your Majesty," he'd said firmly. "Some cowards may even voice their fears as insults from the crowd, but braving the stares and the mutterings is the only option you have, unfortunately. He'd made a face. "Being gawked at is part and parcel of being royalty, unpleasant as it is. But on the other hand," he'd brightened, "encountering the shouts and the stares with calm dignity will show everyone you're in control of yourself, ma'am."  
"Shouts," Elsa had muttered to herself, twisting her hands, "stares."  
"You'll manage fine, Your Majesty. Granted, a few more weeks of practise would do you good, but we just don't have the time. Every day that passes without an appearance from you is more ground for misgivings to grow in." He'd sighed. "Well, you've been making excellent progress, ma'am, and I'm sure the vast importance of staying in control will help you focus."  
"Vast importance," she'd echoed, almost dislocating her fingers.  
"Immense, ma'am," he'd said. "Should your powers get out of hand in front of the people now, they'd never trust you again." He had sipped his coffee.

Elsa had sat staring into space, engulfed by visions of a hostile crowd surrounding her, screaming insults and accusations, her feeble protests falling on deaf ears and drowned by chants of "kill the witch". She snapped out of it when Prince Hans loudly clinked his cup down on the saucer and noticed that frost had crept across the fabric of her dress so far the hem had frozen stuck on the floor.  
"Don't worry, Your Majesty, you won't fail something this crucial," he'd smiled at her. She'd stared back at him in mute terror.

"I – I'm not so sure of that, Prince Hans," she'd finally sighed, loath to admit she was scared of her own subjects. "If anything goes wrong, I still might lose it, you've _seen_ me –" The idea had struck. The Prince had indeed seen her lose control; he'd also repeatedly brought it back to her. And wasn't it the duty of her personal steward to inspect the realm, too? Elsa had bit her lip, thinking it over. Prince Hans had waited calmly, but she'd briefly felt like he was tensely anticipating something. But what? _Oh, figs, I'll worry about it later,_ she'd thought and opened her mouth.

_Well, it's later now._ Elsa prepared for the day ahead, sick with the sizzling nervousness. She'd carefully selected a suitably royal outfit in the official colours, cut and decorated in the traditional Arendelle style. No magical ice dresses today. She wanted to look like the rightful ruler of the land, one of their own. Elsa dressed herself like a convict on the morning of their execution, each piece of clothing weighing on her. She attached the final clasp and looked in the mirror, at the woman who looked surprisingly like her mother, smoothing the fabric absentmindedly, wondering what Prince Hans would say, what her people would think of him following her around.

"Ah, perhaps you should come with me, since you're my steward? You will understand Arendelle's condition much better if you see it with your own eyes," she'd suggested, trying for a nonchalant tone. _And most importantly, you can keep me calm to avoid disaster._

Some smugness had very briefly flickered in his expression, and Elsa had understood she'd played right into his hand. Annoyed, she'd nearly taken it back just to spite him, but that would have been childish. She had to go, she did need him there, and acknowledging that he'd played her would have felt like he'd won. She'd grit her teeth and stayed silent.  
"As you say, Your Majesty," he'd purred, and like a real queen, she'd managed to resist the temptation to hurl a snow chunk into his face.

Elsa was as ready as she was ever going to be.

Prince Hans was waiting for her in the small parlour, clad in his new outfit. It was simple, suitable for a steward of common birth. He looked different without the gilt of his own princely clothes, more efficient and serious. Elsa quite liked the change.  
The Prince eyed her appreciatively.  
" Well, Your Majesty, you look very ready for the trial," he smiled.  
"I wish I felt ready, as well," she let slip. Prince Hans raised his brow.  
"Feeling nervous, ma'am?" She only shot him a withering look. He contemplated her for a while, and then walked over to the ornamental, lacquered drinks cabinet on the side of the room.  
"Did you know, ma'am," he said conversationally, clinking around in it, "that we call alcohol 'liquid courage' in the Isles, due to its beneficial stamina-bolstering effect," he pulled out a bottle, opened it, sniffed at the contents and put it back, selecting another one, "and it seems you might need some extra courage today, Your Majesty". He selected a small glass of cut crystal and poured a generous-looking amount of amber liquid into it.  
"It's still morning," Elsa said to his back, uncertain.  
"A special morning," he returned. The last drink before the battle is a fine, time-tested tradition, ma'am." When Prince Hans turned around with a wide smile and a special beverage for her, a cold hunch slithered down her spine. But before she could refuse it, he hesitated, evaluating her frame and the glass in his hand.  
"May I ask if you've had breakfast, ma'am?" When she shook her head, he gave her a reproaching look and took another glass from the cabinet, pouring over half of the liquid into it. She couldn't come up with an excuse to turn down a toast.  
"For strength and victory," he grinned, raising his glass.  
"Victory," she whispered. Her mouth felt dry when she raised the glass to her lips, and she felt her hand tremble. _He's drinking it too, don't be silly._ But he hadn't drank yet.

And then he emptied his glass in one swig, and Elsa hastened to followed suit, regretting it instantly. The drink _burnt_, trailing fire down her throat and smouldering in her belly. She struggled to keep from coughing. When she'd blinked her vision clear again, she saw him observing her with a quietly amused air.  
"Not used to whisky, are you, Your Majesty," he smiled.  
"No," she gasped, "I never had the reason to try."  
"A first time for everything," he said quietly just when Kai appeared at the door, a polite indication that it was time. The dread hissed in Elsa's gut again, but it was somewhat smothered by the strange warmth of the drink. _Courage,_ she thought. Elsa pulled herself up, feeling the Prince's eyes on her.

•••

The guards of her royal escort were waiting at attention at the castle-yard. Only three men, for an approachable appearance. Arnesen, naturally, and two others whose names she couldn't have guessed if her life depended on it. They saluted her with stiff formality and quietly acknowledged Prince Hans with an undercurrent of respect. Almost like they were his men. Elsa remembered with faint unease that they _had_ been his men, for a few days, when he'd been left as regent. They marched out of the castle gates around her, the tramping echoing in the gateway, and Elsa felt like a convict on her last journey towards the executioner's block.

The frost swirled and jerked within her, but she carefully pushed it back. Taking deep breaths, she thought of Anna and her determined cheerfulness which constantly triumphed against impossible odds. Anna's charm had won the people over before. It could be done. She could do it as well. She had practised. It was different now. _There's nothing to fear_, she told herself, and almost believed it.

The people waiting for her seemed slightly wary, but they smiled and bowed and curtsied, and that was a start. Elsa addressed them, hoping they didn't notice the wavering in her voice. She explained she wanted to see how her people were faring and how the repairs were coming along. She cared deeply for her realm and her subjects and wanted to understand and rule it better.  
"Mamma, is she a witch?" said a child's voice from the crowd, quickly hushed.  
Elsa swallowed and carried on, explaining that here she was now, getting to know them all. Her reign had gotten off to a rocky start, but things were different now.  
It all sounded like empty platitudes even to her own ears.

As Elsa spoke, she noticed the ripples of recognition spreading through the crowd. She saw the incredulous looks at Hans, the whispers behind palms. She felt a faint tingle at her fingertips. _I should have worn my gloves, even if they belong in the past._ She cleared her throat and hoped her voice wouldn't fail her.

"Some of you may recognise my new steward, _Mr. Vestergaard_," she said, and the sudden hush that fell made her voice seem stronger than before. Prince Hans smiled dazzlingly at them and gave a small, smooth bow as if everything was fine and dandy, and Elsa envied his unshakeable aplomb. "He is serving Arendelle through serving and advising me, as a part of his penance for past actions." Her mouth felt so dry. She had to struggle for her words to carry. "Many bad things have happened recently, accidental - and otherwise. Arendelle went through a trying time, a devastating crisis." _And it was all my fault, and I am so sorry._ "Many of us did things we shouldn't have done, out of fear, misunderstanding or ignorance. Those things were wrong, and they are deeply, deeply regretted, but they are in the past, and we must move forward, as a nation. We must work together. The path to a brighter future lies in repenting, redeeming, repairing and forgiving. And in order to earn and receive forgiveness," she implored, "we must be willing to forgive those who strive to earn it."  
_Forgive me, please._

They waited silently for her to continue. She finished by encouraging them all to approach her or her steward - she gestured to the Prince, exuding capability by her side - with any problems or needs.  
"Don't hesitate", she urged, pushing out a smile.

They hesitated before applauding her. Elsa's legs trembled when she started the progression to view the repairs, and she was grateful she wore a full skirt.

When they were inspecting some recently completed work on a frost-damaged house, a portly man with fine clothes and a commanding presence approached her. He presented himself as Klaus Klausen Birkelund, the chairman of the League of the Ice and Timber Merchants, and Elsa understood he was important. Timber was one of Arendelle's main exports and the League wielded a great deal of influence, possibly more than the City Council itself. Mr. Birkelund was quite upset. He complained about the impending state-dictated limitations on the frostfir timber trade, lamenting that the exclusive rights and set prices Elsa had promised to the scheming pedlars of Hansa would grievously hurt the honest Arendelle tradesmen. Especially due to the crown taking such a large slice of the profits and the trade with Weselton having been completely cut.

Elsa was most sympathetic. Unfortunately, she explained, drastic measures were necessary, as the population of Arendelle desperately needed foreign produce to make it through the coming winter. _Because of the disaster I unleashed_, hung unsaid in the air. Nervous, Elsa pointed out that they all needed to make sacrifices, in order for the country to get back on it's feet after the recent devastation. _That you brought upon us,_ she read in Mr. Birkelund's face. Flustered, she tried to suggest they could surely conduct trade for one year in other timbers than frostfir, but she knew it was a poor substitute. The tight scrutiny of the crowd felt oppressive, and Elsa wished more than ever Anna was there to lift the mood with her inexhaustible cheerfulness.  
Mr. Birkelund remained respectfully polite, but his countenance showed severe displeasure. He inquired if the crown would compensate for their losses somehow, and Elsa could feel the frost swirl in her. People were staring, expecting a response, but she didn't know what to tell him. She sought support from Prince Hans and found him already staring at her, like he was anticipating something with baited breath. His gaze was chilling.

The plan unfolded in her mind in a clear flash, as if lit by a stroke of lightning. How could she have been so blind, so foolish? Prince Hans knew she couldn't do it, he'd _meant_ for her to fail all along. He wanted the people to see how unstable she was, wanted her to unleash a new disaster in public, wanted them to fear her - and present himself as someone they could turn to, their saviour. She'd walked right into it.  
Elsa wanted to run, to escape before it broke loose, but there was nowhere to go, there were people everywhere. _Not again, not again._ Wake up, she told herself, I will wake up soon, it's not really happening. She bit the insides of her cheeks until she tasted blood, closing her eyes, willing herself to wake up in her bed. It didn't work.

The frost was churning and roaring now, and she was sure the ground beneath her feet would be white, if she'd dared look down.  
She'd been locked into a nightmare, the one where she was surrounded by a wild, furious mob closing around her, all witnessing her shame and monstrosity. The crowd seemed to grow in stature, and Elsa tried to speak, but no sound came out. _I'm so sorry, Anna, I should never have trusted him._ She tried to hold it in, tried to focus her mind and calm down, she'd practised, she had it under control, but the fear was too strong. _I can't._ Her hands clenched into fists and rose to her heart almost involuntarily. _I can't._ The people caught the gesture, or perhaps she was so far gone she chilled the air, but they noticed, they saw it, they saw._ I can't._ Many of them started to retreat in fear. Elsa let out a small whimper, trembling, feeling herself being sucked under, falling into the swirling, blinding maelstrom of the fear, thundering in her ears. The frost prickled her palms like needles now, and she felt its throbbing pressure rising, she was going to hurt someone.

"Look at this, please, Your Majesty," Prince Hans' calm voice said by her ear, "I must ask for your opinion."  
Elsa opened her eyes and saw him hovering half over her, holding a pen and an open notebook in front of her. There was writing on the page. She stared at the hastily scrawled words for a moment before she understood them.

MAKE 10 DIFFERENT SNOWFLAKES  
WITH THE PEN

He had a pleasant smile on his face, but his eyes were serious. Serious, but no longer cold.  
"It's crucial, ma'am, I need your signature," he said emphatically.  
"I-I see," Elsa gasped. "Of course." She took the pencil and pressed it on the page, focusing to spread the frost on the page through the pen tip, just enough to form a snowflake imprint on the page. She held her breath to get it just right, just right.  
_One._  
The pen, the page and almost the whole book froze over. She twitched, but the Prince obscured it from the people. She thawed it and made another.  
_Two._ _Focus, Elsa. Breathe. Easy._  
"It's a weighty decision, Your Majesty," Hans said lightly.  
_Three._  
She could do this.  
_Four._  
Different, it read. How could she vary them?  
_Five. Six._  
Focusing on the flakes had broken the choke-hold of the fear. Her breathing levelled off.  
_Seven. Eight._  
She was in control of herself again.  
_Nine. Ten._  
"Yes, very crucial. You were right to show it to me, Mr. Vestergaard, _thank you_," she said, returning the pen to him. He grinned at her, a bit too widely. _Smile._ Elsa took a deep breath, forced her face into a smile and turned to face her noticeably relieved people and guards.

"I know I have done mistakes and have a lot of work ahead of me," she said, "but I'm working. I'm learning. I love my country, and I promise you I will give this realm and it's people everything I have."  
This time they applauded her with enthusiasm and smiles, and Elsa felt stronger than in a long while.

Mr. Birkelund, visibly remorseful, bowed to her.  
"My deepest apologies, Your Majesty," he said. "It's just that we have families and employees, Your Majesty, we need to plan - I never meant to upset Your Majesty so with my humble inquiries." She had to say something, she couldn't let the League think she'd suffer a nervous breakdown whenever faced with a difficult question.  
"Not at all, Mr. Birkelund, I understand your worry. You are trying to care for your own, as am I. I," she looked at the Prince again, she didn't know what to promise, "I will look into the matter of compensation, as soon as we are over the crisis and the situation has balanced out. Your losses will be remembered." Prince Hans cleared his throat.  
"If I may, ma'am?" She nodded, relieved.

"It's very unfortunate that the trade must be meddled with, but it is a vital matter of national importance and simply cannot be avoided," he stated in a loud, imposing voice, standing up tall by her side. "We - _the crown_ would avoid it if it could, believe me. However, the situation is what it is. We must face the facts, and at present Arendelle simply _will_ not have enough crops to sustain the population through the winter. I will not lie to you. The well-off might have the funds for foreign imports, but those whose livelihoods depend on domestic produce - that is, most of the people - would be utterly devastated. There would be severe famine, many deaths, possibly riots. The crown," he declared, letting his gaze travel across their faces, "has a _duty_ to act in the best interest of Arendelle and to protect her people. That means taking _responsibility_ and daring to make difficult choices when the need arises. That need is now." _He looks and sounds like a true leader_, Elsa thought. The crowd was under his spell, many nodding to his words.  
"The crisis struck all of Arendelle, and all of Arendelle must weather the impact and pay the costs together, as a nation. The well-off will have to tolerate some temporary difficulty in order for Arendelle to rise again. Your fatherland needs you now," he told Mr. Birkelund, whose chest swelled with patriotic feeling, "is she not worth the sacrifice?"  
"Yes!" he said resolutely, clearly moved. Prince Hans gave him a solemn nod.  
"Your efforts will not be forgotten. I need you to keep careful record of the trade, all of it, of the amounts logged, shipped and sold, of the wages paid and all the costs and the final profits, before and after taxes. Please prepare a document including the same details for the past 2 years, as well, and make an estimation of the actual losses suffered based on those. Her Majesty shall deliberate on that and decide how and what to compensate to you, when all details are clear and the crisis has passed." _That'll be at least a year and half from now,_ Elsa realised, trying to look majestic and merciful as all eyes again turned to her. He'd bought her a great deal of time. Mr. Birkelund bowed again, satisfied.

"Well done, Ma'am," the Prince said under his voice as soon as they were back through the castle gates. "You made it." Slightly short of breath, Elsa thought her legs were still trembling. She felt an exhausting mixture of triumph, gratitude, relief, embarrassment and annoyance. _How many times must I be saved by him?_ She turned to Prince Hans just as he was bowing his leave, the guards waiting to escort him back to his cell, and suddenly needed to put the jumble of her emotions to words.

"Wait," she said, rubbing her face. "I - a word, if you please." He stood up, surprised. Elsa licked her lips, let her eyes roam around the courtyard and tried to think of what to say.  
"I don't know what you think of me, or what you're planning. No," she cut him short when he opened his mouth, "don't. I'm not a fool, and neither are you." She stared hard at him, willing him to understand. "Despite everything, I - you are - you have been an indispensable help to me, and the realm. Truly. I would have been lost without you," she said, balling her hands to fists. "I just want to admit that," she muttered, looking at the ground. "It deserves to be acknowledged," she tried again, though it still didn't sound right. He was staring at her with his mouth slightly open, amazed.  
"So. Thank you, Prince Hans." He had a strange look on his face, and for a heartbeat she thought he might almost be blushing, before he gathered himself.  
"It is an honour, Queen Elsa," he said, so softly it ran down her spine like a caress, tingling on her skin, and when she looked into his eyes, she believed he meant it.

Somehow she found she couldn't let him be locked into the cell for the remainder of the day just yet. Without meaning to, she somehow invited him into the west balcony to take some light midday refreshments with her, to recuperate and maybe pass some time.  
Not that she especially wanted to pass the time _together_, Elsa quickly added when she realised how it sounded, but rather in the same space. That they would share, that's all. It was an especially lovely day, after all, and it would be a shame to waste it indoors. She was planning to work on her embroidery, she explained, talking only a little too fast, and perhaps he could work on whatever he normally did in his own time?

He informed her politely that his time was normally spent looking at the walls of his cell.  
"Ah," she said, feeling foolish. "Of course. Well, is there something you'd like to do, then? Read something, maybe? Of course, you can also look at the walls of the balcony, if you prefer, " she suggested. His mouth was twitching at at the corners when he told her that he'd be delighted to read in a space shared with her, and Elsa offered him free choice of the castle's library and quickly took her leave. She angrily changed her clothes, wondering what the deuce had gotten into her and why she couldn't have kept her mouth shut. She was sure she'd gone and turned a delightful, solitary, relaxing afternoon into a tense affair full of hidden barbs and emotional turmoil.

But once they had settled on the balcony benches, he'd given the obligatory compliments on her dress, the balcony itself, the refreshments, the weather and the view, and she'd appropriately acknowledged them all, Elsa found that his company was actually quite pleasant. He simply started to read and promptly sank into his book, an adventure tale of some sort. Elsa tried to focus on her needlework, but found herself stealing glances at him. Immersed in his story, sprawled on the bench, occasionally letting out little unwitting huffs at the prose, he looked a lot younger.  
Elsa covertly kept his glass chilled all afternoon. For no reason, really. A tepid drink on a hot day was simply a miserable thing no-one should suffer.

•••

Why would anyone ever willingly subject themselves to this _torture_, Elsa wondered for the hundredth time when the carriage rocked violently once more, tossing her around in the cabin. She scowled at Prince Hans who sat opposite her, quite undisturbed by the shaky ride, admiring the view. Elsa was absolutely sure the infernal scoundrel was internally laughing at her undignified bouncing. When he cheerfully commented on the _fine_ state of Arendelle's roads, she considered pushing him out of the moving carriage to admire the blasted roads from a closer proximity, but that wouldn't be very queenly.

After the success of the first appearance, she had ventured among the people with Prince Hans in tow two more times, gaining insight and confidence. As her nervousness diminished, her interest in the outside world blossomed, and she found herself fascinated by Arendelle and it's people. Their daily life and goings-on interested her deeply, though crowds still made her uneasy. Word of the Queen's personal interest had gotten around. In the last outing, a visit to the harbour and Navy headquarters, she'd encountered a veritable delegation of excited officials sloppily decked out in their finest outfits. Apparently they'd been keeping their better clothes at their offices just in case she'd happen to visit and had changed in a hurry.

Prince Hans, who was a trained naval officer, had shown such enthusiastic interest in the affairs of Arendelle's navy it had made Elsa slightly uneasy. She'd felt useless and stupid as she listened to their conversation, trying to look like she understood the military slang. It probably wasn't wise to allow a foreign traitor discuss and plan her country's defences, but what option did she have? She'd made him her steward, and as such he became more entangled with Arendelle's affairs every day, privy to every plan and detail and document.  
Elsa had decided she should think of some secret weapon against him, just in case. But when she'd seen how excited he was to work in his field of expertise, she'd felt guilty of her distrust.

She'd received a new letter from Anna. It was a crumpled, blotchy thing, smelling of reindeer and lamp oil and something else, a physical manifestation of adventure and the hardships of travel. It looked like Anna might have written it in a moving cart or against someone's back, but it was a delightful letter nonetheless. They'd passed the border to Sygneland, their northern neighbour, and she was excited and happy and in love and experiencing the world, and Elsa envied her. She'd written a cheerful, light reply, where she carefully avoided mentioning anything about Prince Hans, her insecurity, or anything of real importance. Anna had promised to check the _Poste Restante_ at Dalenes on the way back, but she might forget, and Elsa didn't want her personal secrets getting lost in the world.

The letter had had an impact on her; it made her want to travel, too. Actually, it was high time the Queen saw her realm. She'd seen the path to the north mountain and remembered some flashes from her early childhood, but had no real idea what the rest of her country was like outside the capital. A queenstour was in order. Elsa had resolved to journey to Arendelle's second largest town, Agdair, as soon as was convenient. Prince Hans, Kai, and Agdair City Council were all informed of her plans. After years of neglect, the royal carriage had been prepared for travel again. When Elsa had been settling for bed the night before the trip, wondering if she'd remembered everything, it had occurred to her that transporting Prince Hans around the realm might not be wise. What if he'd try to escape?  
_Well, too late._ She didn't want to seem indecisive and cancel now, and besides, she was sure she could keep him in check. If he'd try anything, she would simply practice her frost projectile accuracy on him.

Elsa had climbed into the carriage in the early hours of the morning, excited and ready to experience something new.  
She certainly did, sooner than she'd thought. She'd never gone through anything like the violent shaking of the carriage in her life, and she was miserably counting moments to their arrival. She glanced enviously at the guards of her convoy, who were riding along the carriage in neat formation. Elsa had never ridden a horse, but it must have been more pleasant than _this._ At least Prince Hans was sharing her suffering. It was daring enough to bring him along – putting him on a horse of his own would have been practically begging for him to escape. However, he looked infuriatingly serene and composed, smiling a small, private smile while looking at the landscape their carriage was trudging through. It _was_ a lovely landscape, still shrouded in the morning mists, and Elsa would have liked to explore it. Without bouncing.

"If I may ask, will this be Your Majesty's first visit to Agdair?" She turned to look at the Prince, whose green eyes were sparkling in the soft light.  
"Yes, or at least the first one I'll remember," she admitted. "I must have visited places in my infancy, but almost all of my memories are from within the castle. I'm a visitor in my own country." She looked out the window again. "I've seen pictures of it, though. And read about it. It's our second largest town, with a booming trade built around metalcraft. They export some iron and steel, but the area speciality is fine metalwork," she rattled off. "They've been a notable trading city for centuries and their coat of arms features black - I mean _sable_ ornamental steel gates on a field _argent_. They also make very renowned wines and liqueurs from berries." Prince Hans grinned.  
"You've done your homework admirably, ma'am." Elsa glanced at him, suspecting he was being cheeky.  
"I had a lot of time, growing up," she retorted.  
"If I may give Your Majesty a word of advice," he said after a short silence, "you might want to compliment things excessively."  
"Excessively, you say?" He nodded.  
"Cities tend to rival with one another, and people tend to be proud of their home regions, ma'am. Agdair is second only to Arendelle itself, so it will mean a lot to them if the Queen herself compliments them. The purpose of this trip is to curry favour and increase your popularity with them, is it not, Your Majesty?"  
"It's an _introductory visit_," she corrected him, "not a performance."  
"Same thing, ma'am," he said airily. Elsa harrumphed.  
"I'm serious, Your Majesty," he said. "People are more willing to love those who appear to love them. Everybody loves to be complimented."  
Elsa didn't answer, bouncing on in deep thought.

_Oh lord, the whole town has come out._

Agdair hadn't had the honour of a royal visit in years, and it appeared to be determined to make the most of this one. The town square was bursting with people dressed in their finest, the streets were decorated with bright flags - the gates of Agdair beside the Arendelle crocus - and every surface seemed to have been recently washed or swept. The royal carriage rumbled to a halt by a red carpet laid out for her, and the people erupted into applause and cheers of "Queen Elsa!" and "Hooray!" Elsa swallowed and took a deep breath while Prince Hans smoothly excited and bowed by the carriage door, holding his hand out for her. _Here we go. Smile._ Elsa stepped out with a wide grin, giving the cheering crowd a delicate wave before walking up the carpet to meet the Mayor.

She smiled widely and exclaimed in delight at anything and everything. At the _darling_ little girl shoving a _beautiful_ bouquet at her with wide-eyed wonder (my own daughter Marthe, Mayor Jernberg told her, beaming), at the _lovely_ town and the _fascinating_ details of it's _impressive_ history and _famed_ industry and trade, so important for Arendelle's economy. She gushed about the _delightful_ streets she was led down, the _splendid_ produce of local craftmanship and industry she was made to look at and taste, and especially the _exquisite_ massive, heavily ornamented twin candlesticks the Chairman of the Metalcrafter's League proudly gifted her, to commemorate the occasion of Her Majesty's visit.

She smiled until her face hurt, to cover up her nervousness about the loud crowd ogling her. It seemed to work, they flashed thrilled grins at her whenever she dared to look someone in the eye. She addressed them, speaking loudly of how happy she was to visit and how exciting it was for her to finally see Agdair and it's wonders for herself after having heard so much of it.  
"Arendelle may be the capital, but Agdair is the beating heart of our industry, it's skilled, hardworking people the backbone of our fair land," she declared, and the the people cheered thunderously. Delighted, Elsa even dared to give display of her powers. She created the crocus of Arendelle out of ice at the top of the fountain on the square - and then the Iron Gates of Agdair around it, and the cheering nearly shook the earth. So far, the visit was a resounding success.

Mayor Jernberg had arranged for a small late luncheon at his own dining hall with some assorted local personages. Elsa was relieved to escape the cheers, and her steward was relieved to put down all of the gifts Her Majesty had received. The food was delicious, but it very quickly became apparent that behind their welcoming smiles, the esteemed masters of Agdair were deeply distressed.  
"We cannot tell Your Majesty how honoured and pleased we are due to your visit, and that you like Agdair so much, ma'am," Mayor Jernberg smiled, "especially considering these current, challenging times." Elsa felt a brush of cold at her back.  
"Challenging, Mayor?"  
"Unfortunately, yes. I must regret to inform Your Majesty that the recent - disruption - of the trade relations with Weselton has struck Agdair most grievously," he said. _Oh, no._  
"They were our largest partner in trade, Your Majesty," cut in the Chairman of the Metalcrafters. Yes, she'd heard that before. "A significant part of our fine wares trade was with Weselton, ma'am."  
"How significant, exactly?"  
"Eighty-two percent, Your Majesty," he replied gravely. Elsa's mouth went dry and a weight thudded into her gut. _Good god. _"They run an extensive, worldwide trade in luxury items, ma'am, and our products spread to the world mainly through them."  
"And in addition to the fine wares, our other exports rather relied on them well, Your Majesty," piped up the Chairman of the Mercers. " Raw materials, wines, fish, everything. All exports combined, we've lost nearly sixty percent of our trade in one blow, ma'am." All eyes were on her, waiting for her reaction.

Elsa managed to keep her composure.  
"Thank you for bringing this to my attention, gentlemen," she said steadily. "It is a serious matter indeed, and something must be done." The notables of Agdair breathed out and nodded their heads in unison.  
"We are very relieved to see Your Majesty cares for our woes so," Mayor Jernberg smiled widely, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "With the, well, tidings of the _extraordinarily eventful_ start to Your Majesty's reign, and the abrupt termination of the vital trade with Weselton, especially with the crops having suffered - well, I must admit we wondered." He licked his lips. "We wondered if Your Majesty, so bravely facing the trials of the rule alone, would remember us honest workers and merchants, toiling away here in our corner of the world. We _worried_, if I may be so bold, ma'am." Elsa kept smiling. In her lap, where they couldn't see, she started to methodically freeze and thaw her napkin. "But it is a great relief to see that you deign to spare a care for Agdair, ma'am."  
"I care greatly," she said emphatically, "about this beautiful town and it's people. I promise you, gentlemen, that Agdair's needs will be taken care of." Prince Hans shifted by her side. _Too much, I promised too much._  
"Then, when might we humbly expect for Your Majesty in her great wisdom to lift the ban?" The Mayor's voice was dripping with honey. They'd driven her into a corner. Prince Hans shifted again, and Elsa saw he was covertly drawing lines on the tablecloth with his finger. _Ask for a list._  
"The matter of Arendelle's foreign trade must be considered carefully from all sides before making any more hasty decisions," she stated. "I ask you to prepare a memorandum for the state, detailing the past and current situation of the various branches of trade, to give me, the crown, a comprehensive understanding of the matter." They stared at her.  
"A memorandum, Your Majesty?"  
"An _extensive_ memorandum," she said. "Including the amounts of wares produced, all the different trading partners, what has been shipped where and how much and in what time, how the situation has now changed, the costs, the prices, everything. For all the industries." They were exchanging bewildered looks. "You see, I love Arendelle more than anything, and as the Queen, I want to _thoroughly_ understand it's workings so that I will make the right decisions for it," she beamed. They had no choice but to agree. It would take them weeks, months, even, to complete it. She sighed and let go of her napkin.

"If you please, gentlemen, I have an additional request," Prince Hans spoke up. "Considering how disastrously the rift with Weselton has affected the trade, it seems clear that we shouldn't return to the same situation again." The Chairman of the Shipwrights opened his mouth, but the Prince spoke over him. "It puts us in a vulnerable position, giving them too much power. What if they chose to abuse it? There is no reason to place all of our eggs in one basket and be so dependent on one nation and their whims. So I would ask you, gentlemen, to come up with new ideas and possible prospects for the trade. Partners, markets, routes, and so forth." He beamed at them. "After all, few in this world know your trade better than you," he cooed, and they all returned his smile.

Elsa kept smiling and waving through the carriage window as long as there were people watching, but as soon as they were on the road she closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the trembling glass.  
"That went well, ma'am," Prince Hans said. Elsa laughed bitterly.  
"Well? _Well?_ They don't trust me as a ruler and have practically been plotting a revolt, and I've driven the trade to ruin with the Weselton ban, which I can't lift without making Arendelle look politically weak. Even if I wanted to, which I don't." She threw herself back at the seat, burying her face in her hands. "I don't know what to do," she moaned.  
"Stall for time, until you figure something out, ma'am," he said.  
"Easy for you to say," she sighed. "People fall under your spell as soon as you open your mouth. You inspire trust and passion in their hearts. But me, I inspire suspicion and terror."  
"That's not true, ma'am," he said softly. "You've awakened passion in many hearts, I'm sure." She lowered her hands to check his expression, but he seemed sincere. Well, sincere for him.  
"I'm botching it all up," she muttered. "This ruling thing. I'm not sure I'm cut out for it, if I'm tough enough to hold the reins." She felt worn out, like something would break and she'd come apart at any moment. "I was born for this, it's my duty, I spent my life preparing for it - but now it's here, and I can't do it." The words tumbled out of her, the fear she'd never dared to voice. "I'm wrecking our entire royal house. Centuries of rule, generations of kings, and it all ends with me. What would my ancestors say, if they saw me?" Her voice trembled.  
"You're doing very well in a difficult situation, Your Majesty," he said gently. "You have the head for the rule, once you'll get the hang of it. Your forefathers would be proud of you."

Elsa suddenly realised the route was passing relatively close to a location she'd long meant to see. She called to the guards, giving them the new instructions to where she wanted to go.  
"We'll make a short detour," she replied to Prince Hans' questioning expression. "I want to visit my parents."

•••

She ordered the convoy to stop when they were still a good distance from their destination. Elsa felt it was more appropriate to go on foot. Besides, she meant to go alone; she had a hunch seeing her parent's graves would deeply unsettle her, and she didn't want her men to see her like that. The commander of the convoy, the young Officer Something-sen wouldn't hear of it, however. Nervous with the responsibility of command, afraid of the possibility of mistakes, he absolutely refused to let Her Majesty go alone and unprotected.  
"It won't do, Your Majesty," he stammered with a white face, fearful of her wrath. "I have my orders." He pursed his lips together so hard they disappeared, looking like he expected to be frozen solid any moment.

Elsa took pity on him and stated that Prince Hans would accompany her. He, at least, wouldn't be alarmed by the frost breaking loose. Officer Whatshisname-sen looked like he was about to protest, but Prince Hans anticipated him.  
"It's fine, Christensen, I'm neither foolish nor brave enough to try anything, and any other threats should be afraid of her Majesty, not the other way around." Christensen agreed to that, the tension vanished and the men smiled. Elsa felt vaguely like the butt of some joke. Annoyed at them all for being on better terms with the traitor than her, annoyed at her own fragile sensitivity, she strode off without further dallying. Prince Hans followed her without a word.

She picked some wildflowers from the side of the path on the way up, weariness settling on her shoulders. She felt guilty for not having come earlier. She felt guilty for not having been there at the funeral, like a good daughter would have done. She felt suffocatingly guilty about a great deal of things. With heavy heart and feet, she followed the climbing path, meandering through the increasingly sparse greenery. The path eventually made a final curve around a boulder, and suddenly the grassy, wide cliff opened in front of her, the twin gravestones solidly defying in the wind, the vast valley stretching behind them.

Elsa stood still for a moment, clutching her wildflowers, taking in the scene, gathering herself. She was aware of Prince Hans standing behind her, and wished he hadn't come.  
"Can you-"  
"Of course, Ma'am." His voice was soft.

Elsa approached her parents' graves alone. Drawing shuddering breaths, she managed to divide her flowers into two pitiful bouquets and place them in front of each stone before she started to sob. She caressed the runes of her parent's names, her fingers trailing clear ice across the surface. She missed them so much. Her longing was a black, sharply jagged boulder in her chest, crushing her, cutting her throat with each breath. Somehow, touching the gravestones made their deaths more real, more inescapable. They hadn't just gone away, they were truly dead and never coming back, and Elsa felt like a little girl again, lost and frightened and powerless. The tears on her face froze on her fingers when she tried to wipe her eyes. She stroked the coarse surface of her father's gravestone, pressing her face to it. A sudden memory from her childhood alighted her mind, brilliant and searing; her father's unshaved, stubbly cheek on the night when she'd been so frightened of the raging thunderstorm her frost had burst out and frozen the sheets. She'd crawled to her parent's bed, whimpering with terror, nesting between them. Her father had held her tight and told her that it was all right and there was nothing to fear, she was his little girl. Elsa remembered the rumble of his comforting voice, the scrape of his stubbly cheek against her temple, the feel of utter security she would never feel again in this world. She crumpled on the ground with a wail of pain and sheer, desperate longing.  
"Please," she sobbed, "please don't leave me, please don't be gone, Pappa, Mamma, please, no."

The sorrow washed over her in an overpowering wave that carried her away, and she surrendered to it, her body shaking from the force of the cry she had shut out for so long. She wept long, as the frost surged from her in pulses. When the worst of the grief had passed through her and she'd dried her eyes, she saw the ground and the stones were all covered with tortured, sharp icicles, so huge they blocked her from the outside world. Prince Hans would be waiting for her behind her wall of frozen grief. Exhausted and raw, she wondered if she could simply seal herself away from the world, raise the wall higher instead of thawing it, stay here by her parent's side until death claimed her. It was impossible, of course. She was bound by her duty.

"The wind is cruel up here," he said when she emerged, holding out his handkerchief. Even that small gesture of sympathy was almost more than she could bear. Elsa felt a distant longing to curl up to a small ball and be held by him, to cry against his wide shoulders. Confused, she wiped her face instead. Prince Hans was looking past her, at the gravestones and the emptiness beyond.  
"My condolences," he murmured, nothing more, and she was grateful for his silence.

On their way back it occurred to her that she must have looked horrible, with puffy eyes, bloated nose and tear-striped cheeks. They'd heard the gurgle of water on the way, and Elsa decided to wash her face.

She had never seen a stream before. It was mesmerising, the water looking like trembling, clear glass, rippling gently. She splashed her face, and the water was so cold it cut like a knife through the stuffy, bloated haze she was in, clearing her thoughts. Prince Hans seemed impatient and tense, but Elsa didn't want to return just yet, marvelling at the stream. Then she recognised something in this shuffling and remembered that they'd gone through the day, eating and drinking, without the prince having been allowed any _private time_. There was no way for her to address the matter with decency, though, and he couldn't bring it up, either. _Decorum really is such a bother sometimes,_ she thought, trying to think of a way around the problem. Finally she simply sent him off into the woods alone to fetch her 'some flowers, or a pretty twig', and to take his time by all means. He looked relieved and quickly disappeared into the woods.

She stood still, fascinated by the water, it's tinkling the only sound in the silence. It had some soothing, almost magical quality. She crouched down and put her hand in the clear stream again, enjoying the unfamiliar sensation of the cold water flowing through her fingers. Then a most improper urge popped in her head. But she was alone, so what did propriety matter? Elsa kicked off her shoes, gathered her skirts in her grip and carefully stepped into the water.  
The sensation made her gasp. The water was cold and sharp, it didn't hurt her but she felt it. She sighed at the feel of the rushing water pushing against her, almost like the touch of a living being, trying to pull her somewhere else with it.

The water flowed on past her legs, fast and still at the same time. Elsa suddenly felt the rush of time and life flowing past her as well, endlessly and unstoppably roaring ever forward despite her standing in one place, motionless, in the middle of it. _The stream of time_, she thought. It was washing her sadness away, taking the weight with it to the irretrievable past. She thought that the same stream must have been tinkling there for centuries, millennia, even, determinedly carving it's way into the stone. It had been tirelessly streaming there, minding it's own business, while kingdoms had been built and lost, and her parents, and their parents, and theirs, and all of the kings in her long bloodline had each sat on the Arendelle throne in their turn, before passing on into the great darkness so their offspring could mourn them and start their own reign. _And now it's my turn._ It was oddly comforting, and she stood in the water, allowing her grief to be rinsed from her.

She waded slowly a little deeper and delighted in the new sensation. A nice-looking big stone in the middle of the stream had some green wavy things growing on it, like underwater grass flowing in an unseen wind. The water made the light dance under the surface, and the glow reminded her of Hans' eyes. It looked soft, and Elsa wanted to feel it between her toes. She hitched her skirts higher and took a large stride to reach it, but her footing slipped away as if the stone was soaped and she crashed under the surface with a shriek.

The impact knocked the entire world bright, blinding white, shocking all of her senses useless. The fierce embrace of the stream held her so tight she couldn't breathe, roared around her so that she didn't know where or how she was. She flailed, and hit her hands on something cold, it was the bottom of the stream-bed, but light was coming from inside the earth, and she didn't understand anything. _I'm dying,_ she thought as the water kissed her with lips so cold it burnt her all over. Elsa felt weightless and calm. The stream was taking her with it through time, to be a part of the past and no longer the present, and she stopped struggling.

And then something crashed around her and she was violently torn up into the blinding brightness.

Elsa gasped for air, air and life, grasping onto whatever she could. Through her coughing and spluttering she heard someone call her name. When she wiped the water from her eyes, she found herself inches from Prince Hans' wide-eyed face, distressed and alarmed. He was standing in the stream, carrying her in his arms. As Elsa's breath returned and steadied, her heart started beating faster. She hadn't been lifted since her early childhood, and the weightlessness was heady. Transfixed, she stared into his golden-green eyes, all of her coherent thoughts beyond her reach, an unfamiliar, burning sensation spreading in her, flowing in her veins, filling her with fire. They looked at each other, the only sounds their heavy breathing and the innocent rippling of the water.

_I died. I died, and emerged anew, and the world is different._

"Are you all right?" His intense gaze moved over her, and Elsa became acutely aware of how wretched and sodden and utterly undignified she must have looked.  
"Yes," she breathed. "The stone was soaped," she said, to excuse her clumsiness. He looked astonished.  
"Soaped?"  
"Really slippery, even though it was grassy," she explained. His mouth twitched.  
"That's algae. It makes underwater surfaces slimy and treacherous," he said, seriously, but she heard laughter in his tone.  
"Seaweed," she breathed, blushing, "I know what that is." Oh, he was going to think she was an idiot. "I've just never, I didn't, at a stream, ah. That's misleading! If it's called _seaweed,_ it should grow in the sea. Why isn't it called _waterweed?_" He grinned widely at that, his eyes sparkling and reflecting the deep green of the foliage. The daylight filtering through the leaves shone from behind him so that his red hair seemed to be aflame. He looked so handsome Elsa suspected briefly that maybe he wasn't Prince Hans at all, but an ancient minor god of the forest who'd copied his form, come to steal her away to the other-world like in the old stories.

Suddenly he went serious.  
"You're bleeding," he said. Confused, Elsa touched a throbbing spot on her head and saw blood on her fingers. Before she could tell him it was nothing, he'd waded to the stream-side. She could feel his body through their wet clothes, could feel his muscles move when he searched for solid footing. It was all utterly improper.  
"It's fine, I'm fine," she insisted, flustered, when he strode on the grass. "Please, just put me doOOOWW!" Her ankle failed her with a painful sharpness, and a blast of ice froze the grass from where her foot touched it. It was as if she'd stepped on a knife. He caught her again before she could crumple to the ground. Prince Hans laid her carefully on the grass and pulled out a fresh handkerchief, inspecting the wound on her head.  
"Hold this against your head, Your Majesty, please," he said. "Do you feel faint?" She shook her head gingerly, her head and foot both throbbing painfully. "Do you know where we are?"  
"Where?" He nodded. "Uh, close to the path that leads to my parent's graves, just outside Arendelle?"  
"Mhm. And how did we end up here?"  
"Well, you conspired to murder me and my sister through outrageous treachery, but in my infinite mercifulness I offered you a deal and you became my steward instead. We've been ruling the realm, plotting the demise of Weaseltown, persuading my people to see the brighter side of sorcery and have just returned from Agdair, where I made my first official royal visit as Queen." She peered at him. "Will you ask for my name next? It's Elsa Kristina Solveig Agdarsdotter of House Frossenskjold-Galte of Arendelle, just in case." He smirked.  
"I'm relieved to see your wit and spirit remain as sharp and focused as ever, Your Majesty," he said. "I dread to think what poor Christensen would have done had I returned you to his charge as mentally lame." It was a frightening notion.

"May I check your ankle, ma'am?" She nodded timidly. He took her bare foot in his hand and moved it gently. Elsa hissed in pain.  
"Hm. Can you wiggle your foot, just a bit?" She wiggled. "Good. It's only sprained, not broken." He started to untie his cravat.  
"What are you doing?"  
"Binding your foot, ma'am. Compression," he explained, starting to bandage her ankle with it, "as well as cold help the healing." He looked up at her mischievously. "Luckily, keeping it cold will be easy in this case."  
When he bent back down, his now loose shirt collar drooped down, exposing his throat and some of his chest. It felt intimate and indecent. Gentlemen weren't supposed to brazenly flash their chests at ladies like that, she thought, but studied the skin she glimpsed anyway. She'd never seen so much of the male body, and was determined to observe as much of him as she could, no matter how unladylike her interest was.

"I didn't know you had medical abilities, too," she said, remarking that he appeared to have some reddish hairs growing on his chest.  
"A navy officer needs all sorts of abilities, Your Majesty. A medic isn't always available. My brother Hafleikr, for example, was once saved by his adjutant's impressive sewing skills, so you can never know what will come in handy," he said cheerfully.  
"Sewing skills?"  
"Yes, ma'am." He tightened the knot. "He sewed shut a fatal wound before my brother bled dry. Hafleikr gave me a sewing set that Christmas and told me I'd better learn to patch myself up, too, since I was to start at the Royal Naval Academy next year." He straightened himself, removing his coat.  
"And did you?"  
"Did what, ma'am?" He wrapped his coat around her. Though slightly wet, it was warm and smelled faintly of him, a masculine mix of different, familiar and foreign smells.  
_I don't need it, the cold doesn't bother me_, she should have said, but didn't.  
"Learn to patch yourself up?"  
"Oh yes," he smiled at her. His shirt and vest were still damp. "I learned very well. Let me look at your wound, Your Majesty."  
When he touched her head, Elsa felt suddenly very shy. She wasn't used to being in close proximity with other people, and the Prince was _very_ close. She listened to his breathing, and when he spoke, she heard his voice rumble in his chest.  
"It's just a scratch, luckily. It's already stopped bleeding." He pulled back. "We should return. With your permission, I'll carry you, ma'am." Elsa blushed.  
"You don't have to do that!"  
"I believe I do, Your Majesty. You can't walk. I'm quite sure that should I show up alone, talking of an accident that befell you, Christensen will field-execute me for regicide first and ask for details second. And truthfully, ma'am, I'm not comfortable leaving an injured woman behind on her own, magical powers or not," he said sternly.  
_You don't need to, I can create a snowman to carry me,_ she should have said, but didn't.

He hoisted her up as if she weighed nothing and started back on a brisk pace. Elsa bounced along on his back, ravaged by brutally intense new emotions and feelings. She couldn't remember when last she'd been in such long, intense bodily contact with anyone, and it felt new and weird and enormous to be so close to another. She had to clench her legs and arms around his torso in a most risqué manner to stay on, while sitting on his hands, it was an almost lewd. The path was steep, and he had to take care to keep his balance. With every step he took, Elsa felt his body work against her thighs and abdomen. Her heart was pounding wildly, and her skin felt more sensitive than usual, resonating with every curious new sensation. Her position had her face half-buried in his neck, breathing in his scent; combined with his coat, she felt enveloped by him. He smelled of soap and leather and some fragrance, and a tiny bit of sweat. It made her feel strangely warm and safe. Elsa had never in her life been so keenly aware of someone else's physicality, and it was bewildering.  
She was till wet from the stream, the dampness seeping from her to him, and she wondered if he felt uncomfortable to him, if she was ruining his clothes. It was all so horribly disgraceful. She'd made herself look like a clumsy, rambling half-wit, feeble of mind and body. Elsa pressed her forehead into his neck and sighed with humiliation.

"Are you in pain, Your Majesty?" She could _feel_ his voice, vibrating in him as he spoke. The sensation was extraordinary, sending warm tendrils snaking around her lower body.  
"No," she breathed, "not at all." She tried to think of something to say, to take her mind off his physique. "I, I'm sorry for ruining your clothes." He snorted.  
"It's just water, ma'am, they'll dry."  
"At least I'm more wet than you," she sighed. He made a huffing noise.  
"How did you fall in, ma'am, if I may ask? Your shoes were still on the bank."  
"I wanted to feel the water," she mumbled. "So I waded in, just a bit. And then I wanted to stand on the rock, to feel that, too. I didn't realise it would be so slippery." Elsa sighed again, feeling foolish and embarrassed.  
"And you hit your head when you fell," he said, and froze the water out of shock. I see."  
"What?"  
She felt him startle slightly, but when he spoke, his voice was nonchalant.  
"Your Majesty, you froze the surface of the stream and a good part of the stream-banks when you went under. You don't remember that?"  
"No. Everything went white, and I didn't know which way was up." They were quiet for a few steps. Elsa was mortified. "Well then, I almost drowned myself in a shallow stream by freezing myself under the ice. Rather stupid, no?"  
"Not at all, Your Majesty. Accidents happen to the best of us," he said. "Why, one of my uncles died a few years back by slipping in his bathtub, in his own bedroom. It's quite tricky to get your head underwater in a tub like that, but he managed by stepping out too briskly, slipping and falling back in headfirst, knocking himself unconscious in the process. Ironically he'd specifically demanded for the floors to be polished that day, so the wax would shield the floorboards. I'd say that's a lot stupider than slipping in pursuit of a new experience, ma'am."  
"That's horrible," she gasped. "Poor man!"  
"Yes, it's very tragic," he said lightly," but at least he had the graciousness to amass a great wealth and then die without heirs, leaving everything to our family. It caused great rejoicing among my brothers, who now had a couple of properties more to divide. So you see, Your Majesty, some good came out of his untimely demise, after all. He provided two poor little princes with homes of their very own." Elsa tried to stifle an improper giggle.  
"You're terrible," she huffed. "How can you laugh at the death of your own relative?"  
"Oh, he deserved it, believe me," he said cheerily.  
"How so?"  
"I can't tell you, Your Majesty," he said, and she could swear the infernal cad was teasing her, "it's unsuitable for the ears of a lady."  
"Well, too bad, as Your Majesty _orders_ you to tell her."  
"He showed rather too much unwanted interest in his female staff, ma'am. I understand the entire household was glad to see him go. The servants raided his wine cellar while celebrating his passing before notifying the family. My brothers Helge and Henning, the fourth and fifth in line, grieved the loss of his choice wines much more than the man himself."

Elsa was speechless. _What a family_. She had always wished she had more relatives, but she was starting to understand mutual blood didn't guarantee good relations. She sighed again, deeply, inhaling his comforting scent.  
"He left behind a title, too," Prince Hans continued wistfully. "I must admit, he really lived up to it." He was baiting her, but Elsa couldn't resist.  
"What title was that, pray tell?"  
"The Earldom of Bath," he said solemnly.  
Elsa snorted and erupted in a fit of giggling into his shirt collar. It grew uncontrollable, and almost turned to crying when the jumble of emotions poured out of her; but then it subsided, leaving her exhausted but feeling significantly better, relaxing against him.

"Not really," she said after some time.  
"No, ma'am, not really," he replied, with a definite smile in his voice.

She lost track of time in the steady rhythm of his stride, and was surprised and a little disappointed at how soon Officer Christensen's alarmed shout signalled their return to the convoy. Christensen was plagued with guilt, blaming himself for ever allowing Her Majesty to wander off without a proper guard, and Prince Hans for somehow being behind the accident. Utterly wretched, he seemed about to dress in a burlap sack, sprinkle ashes on himself and crawl remorsefully through the city as penance for neglecting his duties so, but Elsa managed to calm him down.  
"You obeyed my orders, as you should. And besides, it was at your insistence I brought Pri- Mr. Vestergaard along, and he turned out to be my saviour," she comforted him. "Without him, I'd still be sitting alone in the woods, with a sprained ankle," she lied. Prince Hans only smiled good-naturedly and told Christensen he was a good man and right to be suspicious, considering everything, when he mumbled his humblest apologies. He almost called him _Your Highness_, Elsa noted.

When the carriage was once again torturously shaking towards Arendelle, Elsa took stock of the day. She oozed dampness to some soldier's coat spread under her as she gazed at her realm, slowly passing past the window. From the corner of her eye, she peeked at Prince Hans, who sat with his arms folded, apparently deep in thought, looking obscenely handsome in his damp shirt and vest in the golden evening light. Elsa was annoyed with him for being so damnably _complex._ She wished she could see into his head. She wished she could figure him out, know where he stood, know what to think of him. She was tired of feeling conflicted.

She looked absent-mindedly at the twin candlesticks of the fine Agdair make, trembling along on the seat next to the Prince.  
"Your brother," she said, "the one who got patched up. How is he now? Did he inherit one of your uncle's houses?"  
"Hafleikr? No, Your Majesty, he's carving an illustrious career for himself in our Royal Navy, he's been made a Commodore since then. He's at sea so much he simply stays at his room at Elsingborg Palace when he's ashore, which isn't often."  
Elsa studied him for a while.  
"You like him," she decided. He glanced at her, surprised.  
"Well, he is my dear brother, ma'am."  
"No," she said. "You don't like all of your brothers." His brow twitched. "You don't like _most_ of them, Prince Hans. But you do like this Hafleikr, who told you to learn to take care of yourself." He looked at her silently, with yet another expression she couldn't decipher at all.  
"Indeed I do, ma'am. You're very perspective. He's an admirable man, worthy of respect."  
"Unlike you, then, and apparently the rest of your family," she quipped, slightly frustrated with him.

He smiled back at her in such a way Elsa wanted to take back her words, wanted to apologise, but that would have been ridiculous, and she stayed silent. _He deserves it,_ she thought, staring determinedly out of the window, his coat and scent still embracing her, _he's a vile traitor._ But the guilty feeling remained with her for the rest of the journey.

She returned his coat to him before stepping out of the carriage. Wearing his clothes would have made it all seem scandalous, like she'd been engaging in some salacious, intimate affair with him. When he bowed his goodbyes to her, he had retreated back behind his impersonal politeness and Elsa wondered if the fleeting, intimate familiarity between them had ever actually existed, or if she had imagined it all.

_Perhaps I'm dreaming_, she thought when the guards were carrying her towards her chambers through the candle-lit halls, _maybe the whole day has been a dream and I will wake up soon, and all will be like it was before._

_–_

* On Elsa's name: in the Nordic countries, before everyone had proper family names, people used patronyms - their father's name combined with -son or -daughter. Someone might be called Petter Svensson and if they named their son after their father, the son would be Sven Pettersson.

As many families had the habit of always naming the oldest boy, the heir, with the same name, over time there patronyms became actual family names like Andersson or Magnusson - or Arnesen or Christensen. Even when people started to use family names that no longer depended on the first name of your dad, the tradition of "child of father" -names was continued in the middle names.

So one of Elsa's names, Agdarsdotter - daughter of Agdar - is a nod to this tradition.


	5. figment

_._

_._

_V_

_figment_

She is collecting sticks with her father in order to construct a fence around a shed. The sticks have to be very particular so the fence will be right. She struggles to find the right kind, but her father gently smiles at her and shows her how to attach the sticks to each other and tells her that she'll learn the knack, too, she is his little girl. She tries her hand at building a part of the fence herself, but keeps freezing the sticks even if she tries not to, and her attachments don't hold. She gets frustrated. When she finally turns to ask her father to show her the knack again, she realises with a shock that her father is no longer there and the night has fallen. The wind starts to pick up.

Frightened, she tries to fix the fence on her own, but can't see in the dark. The sticks keep freezing and falling from her hands and she tries to feel for them in the darkness, whimpering, but accidentally freezes some of the good fence her father has built. The frost spreads through the whole structure and it falls apart. She's crying now, and tries to rebuild at least a part of the fence through her tears, but the more she tries to control the frost, the worse it gets. The ice skitters across the ground, spreading rapidly in every direction, climbing the walls of the shed and even flaking off into the air. It starts to snow heavily and the ground and the sticks are soon under a thick blanket of snow. Crying helplessly, she tries to dig for the sticks under the snow, but manages to find and hold on to only one. She looks around her, afraid and lost. The landscape is completely covered in white and she can't find her way home any more. The snowstorm keeps raging, raising the snowbanks ever higher. The shed is almost completely under the snow now, she has failed and let everyone down and ruined everything. Still sobbing, she tries to find her way to safety and starts to wade through the snow in a random direction, but soon gets completely lost. She loses her footing and falls under the surface of the snow, tumbling down a hill inside the snowbank.

At the foot of the hill is the edge of a forest. After she digs herself out of the snow using the trick Anna has showed her and looks up, she sees the light from the signal fire flickering through the trees. He's lit the fire for her so she'll find her way. Feeling less frightened, she follows the light. She still holds the last stick, she hasn't lost everything.

The snowstorm quiets when she enters the woods, the dense trees blocking the wind and silencing all sound. For a while she walks in the hushed stillness, the snow crunching under her feet is the only sound. The light gets brighter as she gets closer to it, and she isn't afraid any more although she's wet and cold and the forest grows ever thicker. She knows she is on the right path. She finally arrives at a small clearing where the cold bright signal fire is blazing soundlessly at the top of a flagpole.

On the side of the clearing is a house. The house is very fine and well built, and large enough to almost be called a castle, but in a state of terrible neglect and disrepair. The colours on the walls have been covered by black grime and soot. Someone has boarded up most of the windows and raised a high fence of wrought iron spikes, sharp and dangerous. It looks like a dark mansion from a horror story, intentionally unapproachable and hostile, but she feels glad to see it. She slips quietly in through the bars of the fence and makes her way to the front door even though the path is blocked and overgrown. The door is locked and frozen completely shut, but she knows how to open it. She thaws the lock and calls out that it is her, and the lock clicks and she is able to slowly persuade the door ajar, despite the thoroughly rusted hinges. She steps in, leaving it open behind her.

The house is dark, dusty and completely still. The musty, cold air smells of oblivion. The are many abandoned, shabby rooms. Some are completely empty, some still have forgotten, broken remnants lying around from the time when they were habited. It looks miserable, but she feels calm and content. She likes the look and build of the rooms, the structure is still good and solid even if everything is flaky and ruined at the surface. With a little loving repair the house will be wonderful and she can happily live there, she can see that clear as day.

She wanders through the rooms, slowly making her way to the inner parts of the house. Some of the doors are locked, but she finds her way around them. Some rooms look brutally trashed and have horribly disfigured, scowling portraits on the walls that follow her with their eyes, but she walks past without looking at them, unafraid. The rooms in the inner parts are much smaller but also neater. No careless visitors have been there to wreak violent havoc and they are still maintained by the owner, though unused and empty. In a narrow corridor, hidden deep in the heart of the house, she finally sees a light from under one of the doors and knocks gently, happiness tingling in her chest.

He opens the door for her, clad only in his undergarments with his hair messy from the long sleep, smiling.  
"I was waiting for you," he says, tenderly. She steps into the warmth and stands in the middle of the floor, dripping a puddle of melting snow on the carpet and clutching her stick. Some gløgg is steaming on the tiny stove. The fire crackles cozily. The walls of the small room are decorated with pictures depicting exciting and funny adventures in faraway lands. A soft-looking bed is in the corner with a lamp and a neat pile of books next to it. There is a chest of drawers that seems to be full of interesting secrets and some carefully preserved valuable souvenirs. A familiar, pleasant scent fills the air.

It is a very comfortable and nice place, she thinks. It feels like home. He takes the wet cloak off her and hangs it up to dry.  
"I'm sorry it took so long," she says. "I lost my way and most of the sticks, too." He smiles again and pulls her into his embrace, holding her tight against his bare chest. His skin is warm and dry and she feels safe and happy in his arms.  
"Don't worry," Hans mutters softly into her hair. She can hear his voice resonating deep in his chest. "We'll go find them tomorrow and repair it together."

–

(_for those interested; I had 'If I Had A Heart' by Fever Ray on repeat for the mood_)

Happy anniversary, _Frozen!_


	6. where a prince slips with secrets

(euuuugh how does time go so fast! I thought I was almost done, and then decided to change the plot "a bit", got stuck, horribly stuck with editing etc. It's not the complete chapter, there's still one more scene missing – but it's been so long I have to post something. Sorry and thank you for reading)

EDIT: chapter complete!

.

VI

_where a prince slips with secrets_

Mornings were undoubtedly the worst parts of his current existence.

Hans reluctantly slid into awareness of his miserable, dank surroundings with a groan. The frustratingly familiar throbbing and aching in his body greeted him.  
Every night was the same, full of passionate visions of the ice witch and her deep eyes, her sensual voice sighing his name through lips plump from kissing, her soft, pale flesh compliant and willing under his hands. And every morning was more agonising than the last, every time he emerged from the sweet dream to the desperate reality of his situation a little more devastating.

_The damn witch has made my life a living hell_, he thought, staring at the ceiling baulks. Never in his life had he been so affected by a woman, it was absolute madness. It must have been the magic. She'd put some spell on him to punish him, to bring him to his knees. And he had no way to escape – he couldn't remove himself from her ruinous influence, or even distract himself with other women. His life revolved entirely around Queen Elsa; he was either in her company or alone with his thoughts in his cell, thinking mainly of her.

Hans sat up on the creaking dungeon cot and buried his face in his hands, trying to chase the remains of the dream away and gather himself, to remember who and where he was. The stone floor was cool and solid under his bare feet. It helped. He absent-mindedly rubbed the stubble on his chin, feeling rough and worn. He got up and padded to the corner of his cell acting as a pitiful excuse for a bathroom to wash and shave. Well, crude as it was, it was an improvement. He'd gained enough trust to be allowed to do his toilette in private now.

Holding his breath with each focused stroke of the razor, Hans stared at his distorted reflection in the small, dinged copper mirror he'd been granted. He wished he could as neatly and easily slice away the unwanted desires burning inside him, too. But failing that, he could at least present a sleek, put-together exterior. Appearances were important. They shaped what you were in the minds of others. A dishevelled appearance would have shown weakness, loss of control, and Hans refused to lose, even in that small way.  
Or at least he refused to go down without putting up a fight. He sighed.

He'd been completely, embarrassingly blind-sided. Hans shook his head at himself, remembering how he'd been looking _forward_ to spending time around her, admiring her at his leisure. _Idiot._ The damned attraction had sneaked up on him, stealthily deepening his admiration for her with each display of political sense, each clumsily concealed indication of fragility, each subtle quip she made. Each little smile dancing upon her features, like a ray of light glimpsed behind the clouds.

_I should have let her fall,_ the often-nagging thought floated up again when he was trimming his sideburns. She'd moved according to his machinations like a pretty little puppet and walked right into it. It had been a solid plan, having the Queen completely annihilate her subjects' trust and confidence in her, very neat - and then he'd sabotaged it _himself_, like some gallant dimwit. _Pathetic._ Hans closed his eyes, and the memory enveloped him. How vulnerable and distressed she'd been, how the staggering _need_ to protect her had crashed upon him full force, completely overpowering his better judgement.

Perhaps the madness was a side-effect of all those intense hours they'd spent in the dungeons, struggling to tame her powers – or perhaps it was the spell. In any case, he'd stepped in and saved her. She'd emerged triumphant from the crisis, stronger and more loved than before. It was a ruinous setback. Hans realised he was gripping the razor handle much too hard. He finished shaving and carefully cleaned the gleaming blade, deep in thought.

He'd been sure she'd seen through his façade, and perhaps she had done - but instead of calling the arrangement off, she'd _thanked_ him. His efforts had never been acknowledged so genuinely before, and Hans had almost been rendered speechless. What's more, she'd invited him to spend the afternoon with her, as if he was an esteemed guest, not a prisoner. To his surprise, it had been incredibly pleasant. They'd simply passed the time in a companionable silence, without any head-games or subtle needling, and he'd stolen glances at her as she focused on her embroidery. The summer breeze had played with her hair, and she'd smiled a small, endearing smile, happy and carefree and so very lovely Hans had actually imagined he'd done _the right thing_ and had felt _good_ about saving her. He snapped the razor shut and shoved it angrily into it's designated place, clearly visible from the door. _Idiot, idiot, blind bloody idiot._

They'd appeared to grow steadily easier in each other's company. Colossal fool that he was, he'd allowed himself to grow comfortable and let his defences down, tricked by her affability. Such an amateurish mistake.

Hans removed his shirt, scooped water from the pail and poured it on his head over the washbasin. The sharp bite of the icy water banished the last of the drowsiness away, reminding him of that thrice-cursed gravestone detour. By then, he'd been aware of her influence growing on him, but had deluded himself that he was still on top of it, that it was still just a trifling little fancy he could easily extinguish when he needed to. Every now and then he'd even ventured to tease and flirt with her, delighting in the hesitant responses, the occasional covert looks he'd vainly interpreted as admiring.

And then she'd completely undone him in one splash.

Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw her clear as day. The wet dress clinging to her body, rosy lips open and gasping for breath, her chest heaving, her bright eyes locked with his as he held her tight in his arms. She had been flustered, exposed and vulnerable, undoubtedly the most sensual thing he had ever seen. He'd had half a mind to carry her off and do extremely indecent things to her, to care and caress and _conquer_.

Hans plunged his face into the tingling coldness. _Had she planned it_, he'd asked himself a thousand times since, going through the events in the black nights. _Was it really an accident?_ But the danger had been real. Hadn't it? He remembered the icy grip of fear when he heard her scream, the panic when he'd seen her under the ice and the immense relief when she'd drawn breath and spluttered, decidedly not dead. He'd trembled from the adrenaline. Hans pulled back up and leaned over the basin, water dripping from his face. It was bad, this inability to leave her in harm's way.

On the way back, he'd still been trembling, but now with desire. Even now, he could feel it. The thrilling grip of her thighs around his abdomen, the feel of her body pressing and moving against his, her warmth and wetness seeping onto him, the sweet caress of her sighs and voice in his ears and neck. The particular warmth he felt at the small of his back, at the juncture of her legs. Her buttocks, resting on his hands. It was sheer torture. He'd tried to talk of other things to distract them both, but it had backfired and made her laugh, an adorably genuine laughter.

Back at his cell, Hans had felt surreal and short of breath, trying to make sense of what had happened, feeling like the ground was shifting under his feet. When he'd undressed, he'd realised her sweet scent lingered on his coat, and had stood in the darkness for a long while with his face buried in it before realising what he was doing. He'd sternly told himself to quit being ridiculous.  
Two nights (full of passionate dreams) and two days (spent irrationally worrying that the servants would find and wash the stashed coat) later, he'd been forced to admit that he was being absolutely, perilously ridiculous and couldn't help it. Something had awakened in him. He'd become agonisingly sensitive to Queen Elsa, painfully aware of her body beneath the thin layers of her summer dresses, of her every movement. Hans groaned again, grinding his teeth.

Worse, it wasn't just physical. He'd grown _infatuated_ with her, god help him. She'd hesitantly been opening herself more and more, and Hans was enchanted by everything he found out, admiring her character, enjoying her presence and conversation far too much for his own good.

He'd tried to retreat back behind full formality, but it was in vain. Queen Elsa had become easier than ever with him, asking personal questions and making small talk, and he had to reciprocate. The Agdair trip had simultaneously brought them closer and made things more tense. They refused to acknowledge it, but it was there, it crawled on his skin and made his heart race and breath hitch. It beckoned him in the depths of her gaze whenever their eyes met, sang at the brief bursts of laughter when they forgot their stations, sent sparks through him at the rare accidental touches.

She made him giddy like a boy.

It was dangerous.  
It was folly, weakness and vulnerability that would lead to pointless pain and suffering. Had he learnt nothing from that one incident? _It's not real_, Hans told himself, splashing some more water on his face for good measure. She was playing him, feigning attraction in order to wrap him around her little finger. She'd slipped in the carriage and revealed her thoughts, remember. She didn't trust him and he shouldn't trust her.

"Keep your guard up", he ordered the deformed Hans in the reflection. _It's not real_._ Control yourself, man._ He would prevail with reason and determination.

He finished his morning routine by wiping himself thoroughly with a sponge and cleaning his teeth. Refreshed, he selected his clothes for the day. It was Her Majesty's day off from state affairs, and Hans got to spend it at the stables with Sitron. Since he'd essentially be working as a stablehand, he dressed in the scruffiest clothes he had. No point in soiling his better garments. Hans looked forward to the exercise, he'd missed riding. Hopefully it'd ease the constant tension and clear his head.

He pulled his worse boots on with a harumph. His brothers claimed that the best way to forget a woman was a different woman, but unfortunately he had no chance of that. Aside from the crowds at the official outings, he hadn't even _seen_ a different woman, pretty or hideous. Well, physical activity was physical activity. In the very least, the day would give him a welcome break from the Queen's disorienting, beguiling presence. God knew he needed one.

When he was ready, he sat on the cot and waited for the guard in the cool dimness, very determinedly not thinking of what Queen Elsa might be doing, if she had already arisen or still languidly relaxing in her bed, in nothing but a thin nightgown.

•••

When the door flung open, he saw that his warden for the day was Lundh, a staunch, simple and cheerful man. Hans greeted him warmly, and Lundh grinned back. Hans put serious effort into remaining on good terms with the men. He'd led them once, they'd opposed the Queen together, and he wanted to cling to that mental position of authority as best he could under the circumstances.

It was important to be on good terms with the staff in general, Hans believed. During his invisibility years, he'd understood just how much they really saw and heard. His brothers had gotten so used to acting like he wasn't there they'd occasionally genuinely forgotten his presence and talked of their private affairs in front of him, unintentionally revealing things they'd never consciously allowed him to know.  
After that, he'd realised that most people of rank were incredibly unguarded around their staff as well; casually discussing sensitive matters in plain hearing of maids and guards and servers as if they were deaf and mute furniture pieces. The servants could be a veritable well of useful information, if one knew how to tap into it.

Hans felt his mood lift as they approached the stables. He chatted lightly with Lundh, letting him prattle on, hoping he might let slip of some interesting servant gossip. The day looked like it would be fine and hot, a real scorcher, one of the summer's last glorious displays of power before the autumn would start creeping in. They'd been cradled by a heat wave for a few days now, and the air had gotten thick and sizzling with the pressure. It made everything restless. Lundh made a crack about the heat and its effect on women, and Hans laughed just a tad more heartily it deserved. There would be a thunderstorm soon, he could feel it in the air.

Sitron neighed happily when he saw him, and Hans was grateful he was stuck in Arendelle with him. He was a good horse, intelligent and kind. Lundh handed him over to the charge of Hestnes, the stable master, and left wishing him a good day as he went. Hans walked Sitron out and tied him up, to enjoy the outside air for a bit while he thoroughly mucked out his stall. Master Hestnes was a decent man who treated his animals well, so he didn't fear Sitron would have to suffer for his master's crimes, but the castle was lacking staff. Aside from the most basic upkeep, they couldn't devote time to caring for the foreign traitor's steed, so it fell on the traitor himself. Astoundingly, Hans had found that once he'd got over the initial burning humiliation, he didn't mind the work, not really. It gained him more time outside with Sitron, and actually, there was something oddly satisfying about the physicality of it all. Besides, manual labour probably improved the general attitude towards him among the staff.

_What's happening to me,_ he thought,_ I'm really becoming a commoner._ Hans thought of the abject horror Her Majesty his Lady Mother would feel should she ever hear her own son was shovelling horse dung at the stables. It cheered him up considerably.

After finishing the mucking, Hans cleaned Sitron's hooves and gave him a quick brush-down, talking to him in Southish all the while to keep him calm. He was mildly worried that all these Arendellian-speaking people surrounding him would confuse Sitron, starting to erode the connection they shared. He'd always had a peculiar habit of snorting and whinnying when Hans talked to him, like he was conversing with him. He didn't want to lose that.

Finally, Hans tacked Sitron up and mounted, his heart light with pleasant anticipation. Unfortunately he wasn't allowed outside the castle walls on horseback, so a _real_ ride was out of the question but they could at least practise a bit on the courtyard, to maintain Sitron's responsiveness. He'd been impeccably trained and responded beautifully to his direction, and it would have been a damn shame to let that deteriorate. Luckily, Hestnes agreed and allowed Hans the use of the courtyard on his stable days, even moving some carts to create some space for them.

The day had gained strength and become so suffocatingly hot the air seemed to ripple. Hans' thoughts went briefly to Queen Elsa, wondering if the heat affected her in any way, if she was using her power to keep cool, If she was maybe spending the day with her sister somewhere out of the city. Then he caught himself. Annoyed, he spurred Sitron on to ride it off.

After a few warm-up rounds around the yard in a controlled trot, he began to practise some dressage movements. They were both slightly rusty, but soon started to perform fluently together again. Hans felt real joy at feeling Sitron starting to anticipate him, feeling them work together almost as seamlessly as they'd done back home in the Southern Isles, before all this. Before he'd stopped being a prince.

His thoughts drifted to Queen Elsa again, and he lost his focus, glancing quickly towards the palace in the middle of a difficult change in sequence. He glimpsed the Queen at one of the windows, observing him, her white braid bright against the dark interior, and startled so much Sitron lost the tempo of the gait. When he looked up again, the window was empty, no sorceresses in sight. He'd imagined it.

Hans cursed harshly under his breath. Infatuation was truly a frightening form of madness. He tried to regain his focus, directing Sitron to a cramped canter. It was difficult, there was too little space to build up enough momentum for a good performance. Hans slowed him down to a walk and noticed the horse was exhibiting mild signs of disobedience, probably the result of boredom and frustration. He really needed to be taken out of the castle. With a heavy heart, Hans acknowledged he should ask Hestnes to have someone take Sitron for a proper ride, out of the city with space to run. The idea of some other, unknown rider commanding him in a foreign language was a bitter pill to swallow, but it couldn't be helped. Hans sighed and directed Sitron into some half-hearted attempts at pirouette turns before shaking the wistfulness off and putting his best effort into perfecting the collected gaits.

Finally, Lundh appeared at the side of the yard to holler that his riding time was up. After one last slow round to wind down, Hans had to reluctantly bring Sitron to a halt, dismount and prepare him for finishing up. Sitron made his displeasure known, he'd have liked to continue.  
"I know, boy", Hans patted his neck and loosened the saddle girth. "Me too."  
He walked him slowly to have a drink and cool down. They'd both broken a good sweat. Enjoying the pleasantly exhausted feel in his limbs, Hans tied Sitron up and started to dismantle the tack. He carefully cleaned each piece as he put them away, contemplating the prestigious Southern Isles insignia gleaming gold on them, even embroidered on the saddle-blankets in luxurious gold thread. _It's out of place,_ he thought. _It's too fancy for who I am supposed to be now._

Or maybe _he_ was the one who was out of place. Maybe he didn't even know _what_ his place was any more.  
In the simmering, still heat emanating from everything around him, Hans was suddenly overcome by an odd feeling of being someone unfamiliar, a stranger in his own life, not just in Arendelle. Blood whooshing in his ears, Hans imagined for a moment his senses were heightened and he was on the brink of some enormous revelation, but he stared hard at the familiar lozenge-and-leaves arms of his family until it passed. _That is who you are,_ he thought. _Remember it._

He let out a shuddering sigh and began cleaning Sitron. He quickly wiped him down with a wet towel and re-checked the hooves before starting with the best part, brushing his coat. It was methodical, repetitive work, going over the fur several times with different brushes, but Hans enjoyed it, always had. There was something deeply soothing about it, a sense of companionship and connection, thanking the horse for his efforts with the massaging movements, talking to him all the time in a low voice to keep him calm.

He especially loved the talking. Since his youth, Hans had talked to Sitron about himself, about his troubles and fears, more than anyone else. The horse listened and understood, he secretly believed. He had slowly worked his way through both the horse's coat and his own woes countless times, the scent of hay and horses in the air imbuing everything like a consoling balm. Sitron's stall at the Elsinborg Palace stables had been his favourite place in the world for a long time. Sitron accepted him, comforted him even, and never, ever mocked or belittled him or turned his secrets into weapons of hurt and humiliation. And so, over the years Hans had developed a habit of whispering his secrets to the horse's ears, sharing their weight with him.

Hans had covertly pocketed an apple on his last luncheon with the Queen - quite a feat considering the snug fit of his attire - and he semi-triumphantly presented the treat for Sitron before starting over again with the last brush. He applied some pressure on the long strokes, and the horse grunted with contentment. Hans kept murmuring to him in a soft stream, affectionate praise mixed with sighs telling of smothered confusion and bafflement. Occasionally, Hans would pet him, and the horse fondly nuzzled him back. Sitron was his only friend in this land, he knew, the one being who was genuinely happy to see him. He briefly pressed his forehead to the horse's neck and sighed, breathing in the familiar, safe scent, ready to admit a new secret.

"You love him well, I see," came a very familiar voice from somewhere close behind him, and Hans startled away from Sitron, his blood frozen in his veins. _Oh no. Not her. Please, no._ How much had she heard? His heart thundering, he set his face into a polite smile and turned stiffly to face her. With a nervous twitch of a bow, Hans racked his brain for a response while trying to remember if he'd muttered anything condemning.

She was studying him intensely, her hands elegantly clasped in front of her, a coy smile on her face and curiosity and amusement dancing in her eyes. For her leisure, Queen Elsa had dressed more informally than usual, in a simple dress glittering with ice, her hair airily swept back and loosely braided. She didn't quite look like the Queen of Arendelle, nor like the Snow Sorceress he had fought on the false winter in his previous life. She was neither and both of them. She looked like _herself_, he fancied. She looked absolutely enchanting.

Hans realised with a jolt that he, on the other hand, looked like a ragged, common labourer, with just a worn vest and shirt, sleeves rolled high and no cravat, dirty and sweaty from the work. He nearly flushed with the burning embarrassment; he'd have rather buried himself neck-deep in dung than let her see him like this.

"Uhm, yes, Your Majesty, he's, uh, he's a good horse." It was deeply humiliating to have been caught in such a private moment. "I believe any rider worth their salt cares for their mount, ma'am," he said, slightly too defensively. _Guard your tone, you twit._ He wiped his forehead with his arm. "Forgive me, Your Majesty, I, I wasn't expecting the honour," he mumbled, gesturing to himself.  
"No, no, please, it's your free time," she twiddled with her hands, "I just, um, saw you riding and thought I'd - say hello. You ride very well," she said.  
"Thank you, ma'am," Hans replied, dumbfounded. So it had been her in the window after all. Had she been _watching_ him?  
"Sitron, was it?" She nodded towards the horse.  
"Yes, ma'am," he said, as Sitron perked up at the mention of his name. Queen Elsa smiled.  
"Hello, Sitron," she cooed, giving him a small, adorable wave from where she stood. He snorted at her in return.  
"Would you like to pet him, ma'am?" She clasped her hands again.  
"Oh, I, I don't know if I should, I'm, well." _Dangerous._  
"He's very friendly, ma'am, he won't bite," Hans said, pretending he didn't catch her meaning. She shot him a look.  
"Yes, but…"  
"You've already touched him before, Your Majesty," he said quietly, studying her, "You rode back from the mountain on him." She drew a sharp breath, hesitated, and then gingerly approached Sitron, glancing at Hans for assurance. He nodded at her, taking hold of the reins, and she reached out with her hand, incredibly carefully, seemingly holding her breath. Hans prayed Sitron would play nice. And he did – sensing the situation, he held his head very still and and let her pet him. She let out a sigh when she touched his muzzle. Sitron nudged her hand gently, and Queen Elsa squealed with delight like a little girl.  
"Hello, Sitron," she whispered again, gently stroking him, and Hans found himself intensely jealous of his horse, which was a first.

"Your Majesty is not used to horses?" It was exceptional for a royal.  
"No, I'm not used to any animals at all," she said. "Because of, you know." He nodded. "Have you had him long?"  
"A little over five years, ma'am. I got him when I turned eighteen," he said, "and trained him myself." She smiled.  
"He's very well trained, I see. A healthy, obedient horse is a credit to its master. I understand a great deal of noblemen enjoy riding more than anything, and hunting, the sport of kings, is a favourite pastime for many," she said conversationally, and Hans was fairly certain that came verbatim from some book. "What breed is he? Is he a, uh, an Alyrabian?" Hans squared his shoulders.  
"A Fjord Horse, ma'am," he said stiffly, "not the most prestigious, perhaps, but he's a purebreed, and has great character. Loyal, hardy and reliable," he said, too defensively again.  
"I'm sure he's excellent," she hastily agreed. "Reliability and good-naturedness are much more important than an esteemed pedigree." Hans pursed his mouth, suspecting she was making fun of him. She sighed, licking her lips.

"You're very good with him," she smiled. "I assume you like animals, then? Do you have any other pets?" Hans felt a sharp tug in his chest, the nasty stinging bite of the memory.  
"No, ma'am, I have no other pets," he said, turning to brush Sitron some more. "I enjoy the company of dogs and horses, Your Majesty, like most men of any quality, save for some brutish individuals. They're noble animals."  
"Dogs and horses?" She sounded amused. "That's it? Is there some rule of the bluebloods limiting your affections?"  
"Not really, ma'am, but the horse and the hound are man's trusted, traditional companions," he said, mechanically brushing the same spot without really seeing it, "more fitting for a gentleman than any other beasts." An unpleasant tight feeling was developing at his throat. Queen Elsa chuckled softly.  
"More _fitting_? What, you've never thought for a moment about having some other animal as a pet, even as a child? I don't believe you, and I demand you admit the truth at once," she smiled. Hans tried to swallow, but the painful tightness persisted.  
The memory resurfaced, burning at his eyes, the bright, beautiful day, the off-white gravel of the garden paths scraping his face, Hallvard's weight and iron grip holding him down, his own screams and sobs blending in with the terrified wailing of the animal, fighting for its life, and the loud laughter.

_He's like a little girl, crying after her pussycat._

"Well? I _order_ you to tell me, Prince Hans," her voice was playful. He was gripping the brush so hard his knuckles were white. He tried to clear his throat, but the chunk wouldn't budge.  
"In my childhood, I did have a cat, briefly, Your Majesty. Or well, I fed a cat and imagined it was mine, as children do. But it wasn't a real pet, just some stable moggy, product of an accidental litter."  
"Briefly?" The laughter was gone from her voice. "What happened to it?"  
"It got drowned," he blurted, managing to keep his voice somewhat steady. "There were more than enough cats at the stables already. Ma'am." She gasped.  
"You _drowned_ it? Intentionally?"  
"No, ma'am, my brothers did."

_Please, let her go, please stop, don't hurt her._

Hans bit his tongue and fought to suppress the memory, his eyes tightly squeezed shut, still facing Sitron's flank. It was humiliating enough that Queen Elsa had seen him unkempt like a stable-boy, he'd be damned if he'd appear sentimental and blubbery as well. He drew a deep, focused breath and tried to sound as nonchalant as he could.  
"A pity, I suppose, but that's the usual way of dealing with them, and of course a scrawny kitty wouldn't have been fit for a royal pet, in any case."

There was an odd sound, a high, sharp gasp. Hans whipped around just in time to catch Queen Elsa's contorted expression as she turned away, hurrying out of the stables, snowflakes trailing in the air after her before evaporating in the hot air. Hans realised with a shock that it had been a sob, that the Queen was _crying_. He ran after her, calling her name, but Lundh, having waited outside and alarmed by Her Majesty rushing out in tears, intercepted him at the stable doors, ready to tackle him down if need be.  
"Queen Elsa!" Hans called after her once more while trying to get around Lundh, in vain. She disappeared into the castle without looking back.

•••

Hans was worried.  
He sat in the study, trying to not fidget, waiting for Queen Elsa to arrive.  
She was late. It was highly unusual.

He'd spent a good part of the night pacing in his cell, trying to figure out what on earth had upset her so. Hans had eventually persuaded Lundh to accept that the reason for the Queen's agitation was just a touching story about the tragic death of a beloved pet, and not attempted assault. Her Majesty's sensitive, womanly heart had simply been overcome by compassion for the poor creature. Hans' story was supported by the total lack of a royal order to seize him, so thankfully he hadn't been chained up.

However, since the Queen clearly wanted to avoid the company of Mr Vestergaard, Hans had been confined to his cell. He'd asked to see her and been firmly denied. He'd then written a polite note of apology and practically begged Lundh to deliver it. He'd said he would, but there had been no response, and all Hans could do is worry and wait, wait for Queen Elsa to end her silence and decide to grace him with her presence. He felt strangely guilty. He hadn't meant to upset her. He didn't want her to be sad.

Finally, the door creaked open, and the Queen entered, visibly tired and strained. Hans bounced on his feet and bowed. She dismissed the guard as usual, which was a good sign, and ignored his courtesies, which was a very bad sign. They sat down to work, but the air was heavy and thick with tension, and Hans couldn't take it.

"Your Majesty, I apologise if I upset you in any way-"  
"It's nothing," she snapped. "I was just – surprised, that's all. I already forgot about it." She glared angrily at the documents on the desk and grabbed one. "Let us get to work. This for example is, ah, a proposal on... more staff?" She read it more closely. "It's a suggestion from you?"  
"Yes, Your Majesty." Hans shifted in his seat, trying to regroup his thoughts. "I, if you'll forgive me, have noticed the Arendelle castle is rather sparsely staffed, ma'am. It's inconvenient, even unsafe. I understand the need for it in the past, but now that your secret is out there's no reason to not hire more people. It'd benefit the image of the Royal Family, too, make it seem more prestigious." He paused to gauge her reaction, but she was studying the document with knitted eyebrows, and he went on. "At the very least, Your Majesty ought to hire more guards to the militia and restore your High Council."

"Mm, maybe you're right," she muttered. "When I was a child, Pappa was always having meetings with some stuffy old beards, he didn't do it alone either… what's this?" She was suddenly alert. Hans could guess what part she'd reached.

"_Secret Internal Intelligence and Security Section?_" She finally looked up at him, astonished. "You want me to start spying on _my own_ people?"  
"I would prefer the phrase _gather information_, Your Majesty, but yes," Hans sighed. She raised her eyebrows at him, incredulous. It wasn't going well. "Covertly gathering information about the goings-on of the nation is a common, if unofficial, practise in many countries, ma'am," he explained. "The Galterreans have even established an official agency for it. It's a preventative defence measure against internal unrest, protecting the stability and peace."  
"_Preventative defence measure_, my foot," she huffed indignantly. "It's snooping, listening to greasy gossip about people's private affairs. Maybe in _your_ imagination, Prince Hans, people are all scheming, heartless and immoral, like yourself, plotting and scheming against one another, but me, I'm different, and I _trust_ my people, and I want to be worthy of _their_ trust," she fumed. "Arendelle is _different_," she declared, crumpling the paper in her hands. Hans stared silently at the desk, his ears red. _Scheming, heartless and immoral, like me._

Queen Elsa breathed heavily and calmed herself down.  
"I'm sorry," she said, smoothing out the document. "I don't know why I got so upset."  
"If anything is bothering Your Majesty, it's better to address it directly than leave it festering, ma'am," he said quietly.  
She rubbed her eyes.  
"It's just," she sighed, "I can't understand how you can be so horribly _cold_. Even as a child, you –" she looked away, shaking her head. "How can you be so nonchalant about it? An innocent animal trusted you, and you had him drowned just because you didn't need him and he wasn't fancy enough for you!" Her voice trembled. Hans winced. "Have you no heart? It was a living being!"  
"It was out of my hands, ma'am," Hans said, steadily enough. "And it was a she. It's true she wasn't fancy, but she was the softest thing I'd ever touched, and I'd have liked her to live, if I could have helped it."  
Queen Elsa stared at him, her mouth slightly open.

"You- I thought," she started and stopped. "I thought you didn't care - I thought you didn't even bother naming her."  
" I did. Hindbær," Hans replied. " Stupid name, but she had a pinkish birthmark on the nose that sort of looked like a raspberry, if you squinted," he muttered, mortified. She was silent, studying him.  
"Why didn't you say anything when they drowned her," she asked, so quietly it was almost a whisper. Hans picked on the edge of some document on the table.  
"I did, ma'am. I, uh," he cleared his throat. "I begged," he admitted, ashamed, "but they held me down." He could hear his voice bordered on cracking, and drew a shaky breath. _Sentimental, girlie twit._ "There were four of them, and one of me, and I was but ten, you see." He kept staring at the desk, determinedly studying the ornamental woodcuts of the edges.  
"But… your parents, didn't they do anything about it?" He glanced at her, confused.  
"I wouldn't have dreamed of bothering them with a childish squabble like that, Your Majesty. Besides, whining and snitching was seen as rather dishonourable and highly undesirable behaviour, I'd have been punished. And in fact," he sighed, "it _was_ my fault. It's absolutely not fitting for a prince of the realm to cuddle and cosset a filthy alley cat. So it was mainly a lesson for me, to not shame the family." He closed his eyes for a heartbeat before continuing. "If I'd behaved right, she wouldn't have needed to die. Or at least she'd have gotten a clean death. But I learned." She stared at him, her eyes wide and dark.  
"Shame the family, you say?"  
"It's important to maintain a certain image," he said, straightening his posture, and tried to smile. "A man of quality has to uphold a certain standard in everything he does," he quoted.  
"Horses and hounds are the traditionally suitable companions," Queen Elsa whispered hoarsely. He nodded.  
"I never showed preference for any animal after that. But then I got Sitron. He's safe, since he's expensive and prestigious enough, a suitable animal for royalty," he said matter-of-factly.  
Queen Elsa sat still, blinking, deep in thought.

"One day when I was nine and had been in isolation for a year and a half, I found a large beetle in my room," the Queen finally started, hesitantly. "It was shimmering green and very beautiful, I'd never seen anything like it. I trapped it under a glass with a postcard and looked it up. It was called _Cetonia Aurata_, the Goldsmith beetle, so I named it 'Herre Guldsmed'. I fed him bits of pea and apple and was very happy of my new pet. He kept me company." Hans glanced at her and found her gazing at her hands. "After two days, I wanted to touch his shiny, green shell, just to feel it against my fingertips, and have Herre Guldsmed scamper on my hand a bit. Just a bit," she repeated. "I was very careful." She squeezed her clasped hands into fists. "But I froze him to death the instant I touched him. I buried him in the plant pot of the rubber fig, killing it as well in the process, and cried over him for days," she sniffed. "It's not _shameful_ for a child to grieve for their pet, regardless of their species," she said, emphatically.  
"It's different for you, ma'am," Hans muttered, abashed.  
"How so?"  
"Well, you're, ah, a woman, ma'am. It's different," he said, wondering why it sounded so stupid out loud. The Queen gave him a sharp look.  
"I was the crown heir," she said.  
"I know, ma'am. I didn't mean," Hans said, searching for words, "I meant no offense, it's just that it's easier for women, the expectations are more lenient -" She raised her eyebrows at him. "Uh, I mean to say, the _emotional_ expectations, ma'am, the requirements of conduct, are, well, _different_ for men and women." He was fumbling disastrously. "I'm sure that in some other aspects, the demands on women can be hard, but when it comes to displays of sentiment, women have a lot more leeway, ah, in what's considered socially acceptable. _Shut up, shut up, you dolt._ The Queen regarded him silently. Hans bit his lip.

"Nevertheless, I was the crown princess, thoroughly royal and prestigious, raised to rule, and _I_ cried for days over an insect," she stated. "Over a beetle! And I was convinced, absolutely convinced that everything I'd ever touch would die," she said, twisting her hands. She looked small and lost, and Hans wanted to comfort her, somehow.  
"Sitron didn't die," he said gruffly.  
"No," Elsa let out a half-chuckle, "you were right, he's hardy. I'm glad I could touch him."  
"You should ride him sometime, ma'am," he said, because he felt like he should say something and couldn't think of anything else.  
"I don't know how to ride," she muttered. "I know I should, being a Queen, but it scares me."  
"I'll teach you, Your Majesty," he offered. "Sitron doesn't scare you, does he?" She looked at him, unsure.  
"No, he doesn't. Are you sure? What if I'll get startled?"  
"Then you'll regain control," he stated, and finally managed the smile he'd been trying for. "Things have changed now, ma'am."  
Queen Elsa was silent for a while, and then shyly returned the smile.  
"They have, haven't they," she said softly.

•••

The next morning the cell door was opened by a grim-faced Captain Arnesen himself. He impatiently motioned Hans to follow him, and for a brief, dreadful moment, Hans was gripped by an irrational fear; that the captain's presence meant Queen Elsa had changed her mind about their agreement and he was to be shipped back.  
But there was no larger escort, no-one to take his things, and as the Captain strode through the hallways ahead of him, tense and silent, Hans realised he was nervous. Something was amiss.

Once they'd reached the study, The Captain checked the corridor both ways before closing the door after them. The gesture of conspiratorial secrecy stirred the pleasant, anticipatory tingle of schemes and plotting in Hans. If the Captain of the Royal Guard was about to let the traitor in on something confidential, things were going to get interesting in Arendelle. Hans felt a shiver run down his spine despite the suffocating, pressuring humidity of the heat wave that still sweltered unbroken over the kingdom.

Arnesen approached him warily, still deliberating on whether to trust him or not. Hans tried to look reliable and answered his stare as if he was still the commanding officer. The Captain stood conspiratorially close to him, chewing his lower lip, his eyes darting across his face for a good while before he finally reached a decision.  
"Pri- Mr. Vestergaard. You have been acting as Queen Elsa's personal steward these past weeks, working closely with her," he blurted.  
"I have," Hans said, wondering what this was about.  
"Her Majesty trusts you, and you are informed of state affairs," he continued, eyeing him, "all of them."  
"Yes."  
"And you are –" he chewed his lip again, "_accustomed_ to Her Majesty's, ah, moods and reactions, and their effects?"  
"I am," Hans replied, guessing what he was after. "You could say I've gotten quite good at _working with_ Queen Elsa." Arnesen nodded.  
"And you have sworn to do everything in your power to help Arendelle," he growled, "and Her Majesty."  
"On my honour," Hans said, unflinching under his searing stare. "We both know what I've done. You were there most of the way. We both know what the situation was. I was desperate, and did desperate things," he said quietly, "but I've never wanted any harm to come to this kingdom, Arnesen. You know it." The Captain nodded to himself and took a deep breath, leaning closer.

"This morning, baker Oskarsen's boy came to alert the night watch that – that someone had spread treasonous pamphlets across town during the early hours," he said in a low voice. "Their morning shift had seen them on the walls, and thought it was best to alert us. It's slanderous, wicked stuff, with disgusting lies about the Queen, sir." He reached into his breast pocket and took out a folded paper, turning it in his hands. "Pedersen, who was the city night patrol last night, swore he hadn't seen any pamphlets on his rounds. They've been put up quite late, just before the folk gets up for the day, sir. But Oskarsen sent all of his boys and apprentices out to tear them down, and with the help of the guard – I believe we got them all down in time."  
He was visibly uncomfortable, and Hans had an unpleasant hunch about just what sort of 'wicked slander' was on the pamphlets. "I'm not sure how to proceed, sir. The Queen must be notified, but it's very nasty, really vile, and I'm not sure how Her Majesty will, uh, react to it, sir." He bit his lip again. Hans understood. Arnesen feared Queen Elsa would get so upset she'd freeze something again, quite possibly the unfortunate soul delivering the news.  
"I'll break it to her," he said. "I know how to handle Her Majesty. Let me see what we're dealing with." Relieved, Arnesen handed the pamphlet to him.

Hans folded it open, anticipating vulgar lewdness, but when he saw the picture on the leaflet a cold rush went through him. It was worse than he'd thought, much worse.

The engraving was very well done, actually. Queen Elsa was instantly recognisable, the look of ecstasy on her face incredibly vividly captured, every luscious curve of her body drawn out in loving detail, the ungodly beast copulating with her incredibly imaginative. Nasty didn't come close to describing it, it was obscene.

_The whore of Satan will lead us all to Hell_, the caption read. _Banish the ice witch and save your souls._ Poignant and simple. The demon was apparently some nightmarish, twisted version of a snowman, covered partly in icicles, too. Quite smart.

Hans contemplated the disturbing, carnal image. Lost in the lines depicting her soft flesh, he was distractedly wondering if she would really have an expression like that when Arnesen coughed politely, startling him.  
"It's, yes. Very shocking. Disgusting slander. You did well to tear them down. Do you have any idea who could be behind this?"  
"None, sir." Arnesen shifted uncomfortably. Outside, the light was dimming as clouds covered the sky. "It's not signed and I don't know of any persons or factions opposing the Queen."  
"It has a religious undertone."  
"Yes, sir, but Bishop Falkheim is a sensible man, not a fervent fanatic. Doesn't seem like him, sir."  
"How many people know of this?"  
"Baker Oskarsen, his boys - that's six in total, and the members of the guard who participated, that's five more, me, and now you, sir. Thirteen persons."  
"We have to keep this under wraps. Is this Oskarsen reliable?"_ Could it have been him?_  
"He's a loyal supporter of the royal family, sir. I've known him all my life."  
"Make sure he keeps his and his boys' mouths shut. Absolutely shut. The same goes for your men. This must not spread among the servants. No gossiping with friends – not even family." Hans looked sharply at Arnesen. "That includes yourself. Do you understand?" He nodded. "What did you do with the pamphlets? How many were there?"  
"Around sixty, I think, sir. They're in a drawer at my desk."  
"Burn them," Hans said, looking at the illustration again, "save for thre- no, four copies. We may need them later on. Keep them under lock and key, well hidden."

He studied the graphically detailed image, obscene enough to land people distributing it publicly in jail even if the content wouldn't be treasonous. Hans wondered how in all hell he was going to introduce it to Queen Elsa. A delicate woman of rank like her should never even be aware of the existence of stuff like this, let alone witness it with her own eyes. He knew that many men had little private collections of carefully selected and furtively acquired pictures, hidden away in locked drawers in their personal libraries, but in his understanding _decent women_ were never let anywhere near the clandestine illustrations.  
Especially when they were depicting their own selves.  
With striking detail.  
Hans sighed and closed his eyes, carefully pushing back the images his mind was conjuring up. He felt sweat run down his back. He cleared his throat.

"Make sure everyone involved keeps mum, destroy the pamphlets and start looking into possible culprits. Who might have something against Her Majesty? Anyone whose interests might have suffered since she came to power? You know Arendelle better than I do. We also need to find out where this depravity has been printed. Gather up a list of booksellers and printers in the area, but be very discreet about it. _No-one must find out about this_." Arnesen straightened his back and nodded sternly.  
"Yes, sir."

"Find out about what, gentlemen?" The two men jumped, like children caught red-handed pilfering cookies from the pantry. Queen Elsa had slipped into the room without them noticing, quiet as a ghost. She stood calmly by the door, keenly observing them with a slight smile on her lips and a cutting look of displeasure in her eyes. They bowed in unison, flustered.

"Your Majesty! We, uh, were just discussing with Captain Arnesen how to deal with a, uh," Hans glanced at Arnesen, who somehow managed to be blushing and blanching at the same time, "an unpleasant disturbance, ma'am. A somewhat worrying turn of events has transpired this past night, Your Majesty, requiring urgent attention."  
The Captain had started edging ever so slightly towards the door.  
"Well then, with your permission, Your Majesty, Mr. Vestergaard, sir, if that's all, I must get on with my duties, sir, as agreed?"  
"Yes, Arnesen, that's all. Please get on it at once," Hans said.  
Queen Elsa shifted her gaze back and forth between them before giving Arnesen a curt nod. He made himself scarce with remarkable efficiency.

"Well, Prince Hans," she said as soon as the door clicked shut, "I trust you'll fill me in regarding this 'worrying turn of events' that apparently requires you to whisper secretively with the captain of my guard?" Her tone was so frosty he could almost see the words in the air. Hans swallowed.  
"Naturally, ma'am. Uhm." The leaflet seemed to grow hot in his hands. Clutching it, Hans took a deep breath and plunged straight in. "During the night, someone has spread treasonous pamphlets around Arendelle, Your Majesty. Unfortunately they directly attack you, ma'am, in a very disgusting and personal manner." Queen Elsa started. "They've been torn down, but the perpetrator is still at large."  
"Attack me?" The ire in her voice was completely gone, replaced by surprise and hurt.  
"Yes, ma'am. They contain, ah, accusations of witchcraft and urge the people to rise against you, ma'am. And a very graphic illustration." Hans desperately hoped she'd decide she didn't want to see it. The Queen seemed to shrink, and clasped her hands to her heart, deflated.  
"W-witchcraft? But I've never – is that what people think?"  
"Some people might, ma'am," he said. "People aren't used to magic. It frightens some." Queen Elsa hugged herself, turning away.  
"Frightens," she muttered. "Am I still so frightening, that they want to attack me? After everything?"  
"Not all of them, Your majesty," Hans said, a frustrating feeling of helplessness raising in him. He wanted to relieve her distress, wanted to comfort her. "Rude caricatures are unavoidable, ma'am. It's impossible to rule in a way that never displeases anyone, and the heads of state are the easiest targets of ridicule. There will_ always_ be some who complain. It doesn't mean you cause any exceptional fear or disquiet, Your Majesty," he tried, knowing he was lying. Of course an exceptional sorceress queen would cause an exceptional reaction. The evident truth hung in the air.

"Let me see it," she said, turning suddenly to face him. "Let me see what's being said of me."  
"Your Majesty," Hans demurred, "it's extremely repulsive. Too inappropriate for the eyes of a woman, in fact. Allow me to suggest –"  
"Let me see it, I said."  
"I'm not sure if it's wise, ma'am," he tried once more, the pamphlet in his hands feeling like hot iron. Queen Elsa looked at him, her astonishment at his refusal to obey giving way to a slow, sad realisation. She pursed her lips.  
"I must be able to face the reality, however harsh, if I am to rule, Prince Hans," she said, pulling herself up. "I'm not made of sugar. You don't need to coddle me." She held her hand out, and Hans had no option but to give the folded leaflet to her. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled lazily.

Her hands shook as she folded it open, and Hans wondered how much she knew about what happened between husbands and wives when she let out a weird, squawky gasp and a burst of cold air. The pamphlet froze hard in her hands and ice burst forth from her feet, spreading across the parquet and rising into spikes close to her shoes. Hans recoiled slightly before catching himself and returning to attention, folding his hands behind his back. She kept staring at the now-frosted pamphlet, completely still, as a deep blush spread on her cheeks. Finally she tore her eyes from it and looked at him, shocked and humiliated. She tried to speak, but couldn't find her voice at first.  
"How many," she croaked, " how many people saw…"  
"Thirteen, including me. Baker Oskarsen, his apprentices, some guards. I've ordered them to tell no one, ma'am. Most of the people didn't see them." She crushed the frozen paper in her hands and turned away from him again, tears brimming in her eyes, and walked slowly to the window. The floor froze where she tread, but she didn't cry. Queen Elsa drew deep, shuddering breaths that seemed to echo in the pressuring silence, and for a long while, neither of them moved. Hans felt a prickling, burning desire flame up in her, a desire to comfort her, to tell her that everything was all right, and to hunt down whoever had dared hurt her and make them pay.

She kept her back turned to him, shoulders squared, the coldness surrounding her tightening to frost, the pressuring humidity in the air around her condensing into snowflakes swirling around her. Outside the windows, the darkened sky finally gave up and released a low, deep rumble that signalled the end of the long heat, the end of summer. Raindrops started to dot the glass, falling lazily at first but soon pouring down in a heavy, hard shower, rinsing the dust and the sweat and the dirt from the city.

Around Queen Elsa, the raindrops on the glass froze. She slowly pressed her palm against the window, and ice erupted in angry spikes and jagged frost-flowers at her touch, careening across the surface until the view was completely obscured and the room became dim, the light rippling as if they were underwater. Outside, lighting flashed within the clouds and the hum of rainfall covered all other sounds.  
"Your Secret Security Section," she finally said.  
"Yes, ma'am?"  
"Launch it," she almost snarled. "You have my full authorisation for any measures you need to take. _Find out who did this._"  
"Yes, ma'am." 

–

* _Herre Guldsmed_ translates to _Mister Goldsmith. Hindbær_ means raspberry; Hans seems to have a habit of naming animals after fruit or berries, heh.

** The French _Sûreté_ ('security'), founded in 1812 (and preceded by Napoleon's impressive and widely feared secret police force) was in my understanding the first permanent national intelligence agency, a pioneer of crime fighting organisations the world over, and an inspiration for such establishments as Scotland Yard or the FBI. Most countries only followed their lead well after the Crimean War, so in my ficverse Hans is a few decades ahead of the curve, like the crafty ginger fox that he is.

*** The Arendelle Guard uniforms suddenly have easily reachable breast pockets now, for my story demands it.

**** I understand that sexual morality was in flux during the 1840's. During the 1700's, sexual attitudes regarding the media were quite liberal, and the erotic novel had triumphantly become very popular with the new, effective and cheap printing methods. However, attitudes changed over the decades, leading to the fanatic, hypocritical propriety and censorship of the Victorian era in the latter half of the century. So in my fic, I've decided that Arendelle is somewhat proper in this sense, not quite victorianish but heading that way, so much that certain obscene materials should not be distributed publicly – and definitely not plastered on the walls, where anyone can see.


	7. where a prince duels twice

_I'm really very sorry about disappearing for so long, I had some unfortunate personal troubles I'd rather not get into. I think I'll try never to promise any deadlines on this fic, it seems to jinx things. But I didn't give up, and the fic continues! Thanks to all of you, actually, it's easier to keep on wrestling with the fic when I know people want to read it. I appreciate every comment, kudos and follow. And thanks also to my beta reader, I never had one before, exciting stuff!_

_I was also supposed to hold an AMA (Ask Me Anything) thread over at Reddit r/FrozenFanfics about this fic - but due to the same troubles that was also delayed. However, it's finally up now, at (remove the spaces)  
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_ www-dot-reddit-dot- com /r/FrozenFanfics/comments/3ax5hn/the_rogue_ama_thread_for_paspartuu_author_of_a/_

_Please feel free to pop by and ask me any questions you might have about the fic, my methods or thoughts! I'd be very pleased to answer. Also just general comments are welcome._

_To those who don't know, AMA threads are sort of open interview discussion threads at Reddit, a large social interaction and discussion website. Reddit consists of tons of "subreddits" dedicated to different topics (including /r/Frozen), some notorious and most harmless, and one of them deals with Frozen Fanfics, as you can guess by the name. You need a user account to comment, but creating one takes only a couple of seconds (you don't need to verify anything by e-mail or put in any personal info, just invent a username and password and hit go) and you can easily create a "throwaway" account with a name like ficthrowawayyyyyy or asfdsgsaasjdg to use for a short while and then forget about._

_I hope to discuss with you at the AMA thread! I'm a little hesitant to talk and comment too much in the reviews / comments section of the fic, but I'd be happy to discuss all questions over there!_

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VII

_where a prince duels twice_

The letter was full of carefully crafted half-truths, peppered with some outright lies. He was quite pleased with it.

Hans sat at a small desk tucked cosily amongst the towering, ornate bookshelves at the Arendelle castle library, attending to his correspondence - writing to his lady mother, Queen Charlotta, to be exact. The desktop was littered with crumpled papers full of crossed-out writing; he'd been at it for quite some time. But it had paid off and he'd finally drafted out an acceptable letter, with just the right details and insinuations hidden between the lines.

The biggest challenge, of course, was coming up with a satisfactory excuse for his continued stay in Arendelle. Hans sighed as he went over the measured, intricate phrases once more.

Arendelle was beautiful and enchanting, et cetera. The Queen and the Princess were most charming and very generous with their hospitality, et cetera. Despite some promising flirtation with Princess Anna, unfortunately an understanding had not been reached and they had mutually decided to end the fledgling engagement. However, Arendelle held other, extremely interesting prospects he wished to explore further before returning home.

The shocking revelation of Her Majesty's magical powers had caused a massive uproar resulting in great confusion and several grievous misunderstandings, but thankfully everything had been resolved and tragedy averted. In the aftermath of the crisis, Hans wrote, he had found it in his heart to stay and aid the gentle but inexperienced Queen Elsa in restoring stability to her fair kingdom. He did it out of his personal desire to help, but also as a diplomatic gesture of goodwill between their countries, strengthening their neighbourly companionship – and, perhaps, laying the groundwork for a _deeper bond_ between the two countries in the future. Hans laid the letter back down, leaning back in his chair.

It read like he was quietly courting Queen Elsa.

It read like he expected to succeed in his courtship, eventually.

Hans sighed again and rubbed his eyes. The sun warmed his face through the lead-light windows, and the smell of old books and dust and sunlight permeated the air. The sounds of the castleyard came from somewhere far away. Everything was still and quiet save for the heavy ticking of the massive longcase clock, and for a fleeting moment Hans had an odd desire to vanish, forget everything about the Southern Isles and his devious family, walk out through the library door as Mr. Vestergaard and nothing more and become a simple man simply doing his job.

He was fairly certain his family already knew what had really happened.

The townsfolk had seen him many times, the former prince now working as a steward under a different name. People liked to gossip, and it was probable the story had reached the ears of the Southern Isles intelligence. The dignitaries he'd held council with were probably also spreading some version of the events. The truth was out. But it didn't matter.

Gossip was just gossip, there was always some dirt going around. What really mattered was the official truth recorded for posterity in documents and diplomatic correspondence. As per her promise, Queen Elsa had muddled the particulars in the explanatory statements they'd sent around to the other countries, only vaguely referencing some severe _lapses of judgement_ and _misguided actions_ the involved parties were now _amicably working to resolve in a collaborative spirit_. Total absence of the phrase _attempted treason and murder_, verified with the Arendelle seal.

It made his blunder tolerable. Marrying into the offended family would fade it out completely. Thus, working towards an engagement was a worthwhile pursuit and an acceptable excuse.

Hans sorted through the papers, and another document he'd been drafting slipped out from under them. The mere sight of it made his heart thump. It was, in its own way, a white flag, his private admission of defeat.

A couple of days ago, the morning after the pamphlet incident, he'd set out to teach Queen Elsa the rudiments of riding, to cheer her up. She had shown up brimming with enthusiasm, wearing a gorgeous, flattering, very impractical ice dress. She'd brazenly morphed it into a pair of breeches and a loose shirt in a flurry right in front of him when he'd suggested a change of outfit, as if showing off. Well, he _had_ been impressed, he couldn't deny it. Nor could he deny having been excited about teaching her. He'd been _especially_ excited about helping her mount up.

As expected, he'd had to give a hefty push to the delightful royal bottom when she'd got stuck, hanging across the saddle like a sack of grain, helplessly treading air. She'd been blushing very fetchingly when she had finally sat in the saddle.

He'd walked Sitron around by the reins at first, instructing her in posture, movements and giving basic commands. Eventually he'd stood at the centre of the yard long-lining them around him, shouting directions and encouragements at her. Queen Elsa had been nervous, her knuckles white and lips pursed, but she'd soon got the hang of it and excitement had alighted upon her face. She sensed the rhythm naturally, Hans had noted. She'd make a fine horsewoman with enough practice, once she'd get over her fears of height, speed and accidentally killing the steed.

Helping her down, he had enjoyed the feel of Elsa sliding down into his arms far too much for his own good, held her just a heartbeat too long, but she hadn't protested. They'd discussed horses and riding to break the tension while Hans had dismantled the tack, and he'd mentioned Sitron needed to be taken for a good ride sometime soon.

"Don't you want to ride him yourself?" she'd asked.

In a moment of surprising openness, he had blurted that he wanted that more than anything, but naturally couldn't be allowed to. She'd studied him for a while while he'd fumbled with the straps.

"I could come with you," she'd stated, with a coy look. "I'll keep an eye on you, and besides, it will do me good to see what it's like to ride in terrain." It had taken him a while to understand the Queen was suggesting riding double, on the same horse with him.

Stunned, Hans had quickly agreed before she would come to her senses and retract her audacious offer. He'd re-tacked Sitron up while Queen Elsa had informed the guards, helped her up and mounted behind her, his heart thundering all the while. When she'd leaned into him, squirming to find a good position, the floral scent in her hair had filled his nose and he'd been sure it was all just one of his dreams and he'd jolt awake in his cell any moment.

But the moment had never come, the dream had gone on.

He'd directed Sitron out of the city and into the open roads, his every sense heightened by her proximity, revelling in the maddeningly tantalising feel of her body grinding against his as they moved together with the horse's pace. Hans hadn't been able to see her face, which was a blessing. He'd felt so flushed his desire would have surely been written plain across his features, had she turned to look.

When Sitron had been going in a good, swinging canter, Queen Elsa had breathlessly shouted over the pounding of the hooves that she was afraid she'd fall, and Hans had used that as an excuse to hold her tighter, encircling her with his arms. It was practically an embrace, and he had relished every sensation, her movements and scent, her weight swaying against him.

Her white neck and a bit of shoulder had been exposed, the muscles shifting with her efforts to remain on the saddle, enticing him. He'd ached to press his lips to her skin and taste it, but had only leaned closer to reassure her, so close he'd felt the warmth of her skin and almost brushed her cheek and ear with his nose, but she hadn't protested.

"Hold on to me," he'd said, and it had come out like a growl, throaty and low.

Gasping, she'd clutched his forearm with her left hand, pressing her body to him, and the urgency of the contact had sent white-hot sparks careening across his body. He'd spurred Sitron to go a bit faster, and when the horse had changed gaits, Elsa had whimpered and grabbed his right thigh for more support, her touch piercing him with dizzying want, leaving him quivering and his mouth dry, gasping for air and control. They'd ridden through the Arendelle landscape with a breathless, thundering pace, moving as one, the wind whooshing in their ears. Hans' heartbeat had pulsed through him and he'd felt exhilarating, dazzling joy at being alive and sharing this moment with Elsa, tearing through the green brightness so fast the complicated restrictions of their real lives at the castle couldn't keep up with them.

They'd finally stopped atop some hill and sat in silence for a while, admiring the vast openness of the fjord-valley, all three panting and trembling with the exercise. Hans had felt intoxicated by her, keenly aware of her hands still gripping him, of her body heaving in his arms with each breath. His palms had been tingling with the temptation to let go of the reins and touch her, caress and squeeze and find their way to her skin, but he'd resisted.

Elsa had leaned on his limbs when shifting to face him. He'd tensed at her weight, and when her hand had slid off his thigh, trailing fire through the fabric, Hans almost moaned out loud.

When she had finally lifted her face, his breath had hitched. He'd never seen her like that before, her hair windswept, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling and laughter dancing on her parted lips. She looked full of life and magic and love, so ravishing Hans felt his desire for her surge through him like a tidal wave, and he almost kissed her, almost.

"Wonderful," she'd breathed, "this is _wonderful_!"

"Yes," he'd managed, his mind reeling as he sank helplessly into the clear depths of her eyes. "Wonderful."

They'd gazed at each other in silence and wonder for a long while as if seeing each other for the first time, and Hans had felt something stirring in him, something immense and life-altering that had been hidden, tied down and smothered for years.

"Can we go further still," she'd asked hoarsely. "I- I don't want to go back just yet."

"With pleasure, ma'am," he'd said, and turned the horse away from the castle.

By the time they'd finally returned to the castleyard, sweaty, wired and thrilled, Hans had been almost beside himself, struggling to contain his arousal and very thankful he'd worn the loosely cut riding breeches instead of his normal trousers. He'd prayed she wasn't savvy enough to recognise his condition. He'd lifted her down, bowed stiffly, made some shoddy excuses about the late hour and the long ride and turned to give Sitron a vigourous brushing before she'd notice anything. His hands had shaken when he'd picked up the brush. When he was finally alone, he'd leaned his forehead on Sitron's sweaty flank and had let out a long, trembling sigh. Perhaps it had been a half-sob, he wasn't sure.

In the middle of the second brushing, Christensen had shown up to inform him that he was to dine with Her Majesty an hour from now. He'd rushed to finish with Sitron and hurried to wash himself and get ready. He'd almost been late, adjusting his cuffs while striding through the halls with still-damp hair, wondering what had prompted the invitation, anticipation fluttering in his chest.

Queen Elsa had been waiting for him, clad in a dazzling, flowing number that exposed her delicate shoulders and upper back, the candlelight twinkling on the ice crystals, her white skin and cascading braid. She'd glimmered in the dimness with an ethereal, sensual allure, like a star in the night sky, an icy jewel reflecting a beautiful, cold fire, and Hans' knees had almost buckled when she'd turned to smile at him.

"Since you used so much of your time accommodating me today, I would like to compensate by treating you to dinner," she'd said demurely. "I hope you find the offer satisfying, Prince Hans."

"It is a privilege to accommodate Your Majesty," he'd replied, bowing. "It was a joy to ride with you, ma'am, you don't need to compensate for anything. Dining with you is a great honour and a pleasure." Her smile had widened at that, her eyes sparkling. "I'm the one who should thank you."

"Thank me, then, with interesting dinner conversation," she'd retorted.

It had been like a scene from a play depicting his previous life, a performance where they both pretended to be different people in a different situation, but he hadn't cared. Queen Elsa had been in an exceptionally cheerful mood, full of ease and subtle quips. Beneath her dignified exterior hid a sharp, even mischievous sense of humour, and Hans had been enthralled, parrying and quipping back and enjoying every moment. The moose with lingonberry sauce had been delicious, a real treat, and the wine had been excellent as well, savoury and full. It had gone slightly to his head, since the water-only prisoner's diet had wrecked his tolerance – or maybe it had been Elsa's presence, the velvety, beguiling looks she threw at him from under fluttering eyelashes, the elegantly feminine gestures, the slow, invitingly enigmatic smiles. In any case, he'd gotten careless with his words, telling her things he'd never told anyone, his real opinions and thoughts slipping out with his eagerness to amuse and interest her.

And she had been interested; leaning her chin on her hands as he regaled her with stories from the Southern Isles court and his youth and time at the military academy and trips abroad. She had been interested in _him_, in his personal opinions and thoughts, listening raptly and asking for more details. It had felt incredibly good. He'd basked and revelled in the warmth of her attention like a cat stretching in a pool of sunlight.

He'd made her laugh, too; a tinkling silver bell echoing from the cut-crystal glasses, some adorable giggles behind her delicate hand, and once a hearty hoot of laughter at some of his brothers' antics. He'd been completely enchanted.

After they had taken the dessert, and the cheese, and the arrack liqueur with some final pieces of chocolate and there were no more courses to be had and the evening was well and truly over, he'd kissed her hand as he'd taken his leave, and actually pressed his lips to her cool skin instead of kissing air. Her delicate hand had twitched slightly in his grasp, but she hadn't protested. When he'd lifted his eyes, she'd been regarding him intensely, her eyes brimming with some deep emotion he couldn't quite place.

"Good night, Prince Hans," she'd said softly, nothing more, and when she'd withdrawn her hand, he'd imagined he felt her brush her fingers against his.

He'd barely registered the walk back to his cell or the cold stone surroundings as he got ready for bed, a pleasant buzz of laughter and good food and wine and her presence humming through him, the echo of her laughter still in his ears. He'd dreamt of her, as he always did nowadays, a sweet, incredibly vivid dream where they belonged together and to each other. He'd woken up still aglow with the same heady buzz, and had been doing his morning toilette smiling at his reflection and humming to himself, almost giddy with anticipation of soon seeing her again, when he'd caught himself.

He'd stood still for a good while, staring his reflection in the eye, carefully studying the brilliant, tingling emotion blooming within him. With a growing sense of dread, he'd recognised it, he'd felt something similar once before.

"Oh, no," he'd whispered to the distorted, aghast copper Hans in the mirror, staring back at him. _Oh, you fool, _the voice had hissed. _You weak, trembly-hearted fool. You went and did it again._

It meant trouble, trouble and disaster and humiliation and great suffering.

"Oh no," he'd moaned, laying the razor down and burying his face in his hands. "No, no, no, no."

He loved her.

He was doomed.

He'd made one last desperate attempt to resist, gathered his resolve on the way to the study and told himself to calmly ignore this juvenile fancy, but when Queen Elsa had swooped in, cheerfully trilling a good morning at him, his heart had thumped and fluttered so much he'd had to admit complete defeat. The disaster couldn't be denied.

But being a practical man and never one to give up, Hans had once again set out to re-ajdust his plan of action in Arendelle, to acknowledge the situation and work with it, to the best of his abilities. That night, he'd sat awake in the quiet, stony darkness of his cell long into the night, staring at the Arendelle night sky and the endless stars through the bars in the tiny window, carefully contemplating his position.

It might have all still been mere infatuation, or part of her plot to manipulate him. Nevertheless, his affection for her grew every day at an alarming rate. Their agreement tied him to her, forced him to spend his days in her company till the unforeseeable future. If he didn't really love her yet, he soon would.

Queen Elsa was unattached at the moment, but couldn't remain like that for long. She had to marry to create stability to her reign. Single women were considered more flighty than wives, and a royal couple seemed infinitely more stable than an inexperienced, unwed sorceress. The kingdom needed an heir. And besides, nothing would prove her general non-demonic harmlessness better than a non-magical husband and child.

Elsa was at prime marrying age right now, and approaching twenty-two she had but two, maybe three years before folk home and abroad would start to whisper about the reasons behind her impending spinsterhood. In four years her singlehood would become an embarrassment to Arendelle. She would have to start the process of searching for a fiancé within a year.

And Hans, Her Majesty's personal Steward, would have to go through the torture of helping the woman he loved track down and marry some suitably noble, snooty, foreign twat. It would kill him.

Therefore, the best solution was to marry her himself.

Hans had sat in the dark, thinking of Elsa, imagining what it would be like to remain at Arendelle indefinitely by her side, while the idea had weaved its roots through him until it filled his mind and heart with the golden, warm certainty of the _right decision_. Finally, a new goal had presented itself, and now he only had to work towards it.

He pulled the document out from under his letter drafts and tutted, going over it once more.

After the decision had been made, he'd sat down to thoroughly assess the situation and figure out the best course of action. Admittedly, persuading Elsa to marry him after he'd tried to steal her throne and kill her was going to be very difficult, perhaps near-impossible, but didn't he love a good challenge with a sweet prize? And besides, what else was he going to do, tear at his hair, cry into his pillow and lament the cruel injustice of the world while hopelessly lusting after her? Write some dreadful, melodramatic poetry about the unnamed object of his desires forever beyond his reach? Ridiculous. Good things seldom happened in life unless one _made_ them happen. Might as well pursue the best possible outcome.

Understanding your opponent was key to victory. In his cell, he'd carefully approached the matter from Queen Elsa's point of view, listing the various factors that might affect her views on marrying him. The document, titled _Me As A Marriage Prospect, _had two neat columns titled _Pros_ and _Cons._

The _Pros_ read:

_\- suitable birth and status_

_\- beneficial connection for Arendelle _(a matrimonial alliance with the Southern Isles was exactly the sort of thing Arendelle needed)

_\- handsome, of a similar age and in excellent health _(he didn't want to brag, but there it was)

_\- well-mannered, pleasant company_

_\- excellent diplomatic and political ability, would benefit new homeland_

_\- already familiar with Arendelle, gets along with the locals etc._

_\- already well-acquainted with the politics, used to running Arendelle's affairs with her_

_\- already personally acquainted with herself, indispensable help in matters both political and private_

_\- untroubled by her unnatural powers, no aversion, hatred or fear _

_\- compatible temperaments, similar interests, easy conversation, a good match_

_\- understands and reads her well_

_\- greatly helped Arendelle at a time of crisis, saving citizen lives and averting disaster (leadership)_

_\- kept her from killing people and further escalating said crisis_

_\- helped her personally come to terms with her powers and become a better ruler_

_\- saved her life (twice)_

_\- personal extremely deep affection, respect and admiration (exceptional w/ arranged marriages)_

and most encouragingly, though still in brackets as he couldn't yet be sure:

_\- (possible romantic interest from her side) _

Really, he was perfect for her.

Since she had to had to marry _someone_, it was far better to marry a familiar, demonstrably suitable person than risk importing a new face, wasn't it? Hans was everything she ought to look for and more. They were clearly attracted to each other, as well. It was very promising.

Unfortunately, the _Cons_ bracket was far from empty, too:

_\- currently a convicted prisoner_

_\- proven traitor, tried to usurp and execute her (__treason__, __personal__ attack)_

_\- formerly engaged to her sister (emotionally messy)_

_\- previously feigned romantic affection for personal gain, any romantic overtures now suspicious_

_\- displayed emotional cruelty towards a love interest before (access to details, probably embellished)_

_\- treated her sister atrociously, left her to die alone_

_\- general dishonesty and treacherousness, possibly dangerous / murderous_

_\- match most likely vehemently opposed by her sister (family strife)_

Hans bit his lip, going over the list once more. It was pretty bad, he had to admit. The usurping and executing could, with enough time to work the perspective, be explained away, considering the extraordinary circumstances and the false information he'd been operating under. And while it made any possible romantic advances from him look highly suspect, exaggerating, even feigning affection in order to secure an advantageous match was also nothing uncommon; marriages of convenience were ubiquitous and some polite lying made them more tolerable for everyone.

But he had no excuse for his cruel treatment of Princess Anna, the Queen's own beloved sister. _I told her I'd planned to arrange an "accident" for Elsa_, he remembered, shifting uneasily before adding "_boasted about plotting to assassinate her (!)_" under _Cons_.

Truthfully, it had been somewhat beneath him - or beneath the man he aimed to be, at least. It simply wasn't gentlemanly, and it _definitely_ harmed his chances with Elsa. Hans laid the document down, rubbed his eyes and let his gaze wander around the ornamental ceiling of the room.

Hadn't it been here?

He craned his neck to see behind the bookshelves and look at the large fireplace at the far side of the room. No, it wasn't the same room, this one had a large table with candlesticks that hadn't been there. He made a face. So much trouble from one sweet, fleeting moment of genuine honesty. Just went to show that most of the time, the truth was a disastrous idea.

Well, he'd messed up and had to bear the consequences. All it did was add to the challenge. And considering how Anna hadn't interrupted any of his private moments with Elsa, it was even possible she wasn't as upset as could be expected. After all, she hadn't minded being cursed to death, either. Perhaps her nature was so forgiving it bordered on half-witted, who knew.

Hans leaned back and stretched, crossing his hands behind his head, studying the painted tangle of vines decorating the ceiling. Anna could, in fact, turn out very useful. Arendelle could marry her off and acquire a suitable groom to wave reassuringly at the crowds and produce non-magical back-up heirs for the throne. It would ease the pressure on Elsa, giving him more time to seduce her. It would no doubt please Princess Anna, too, who'd been practically _gasping_ for a romance. She'd be a royal bride, the bells of every church in the country would ring for her, the crowds would cheer and drink to her health, her gown would be the main topic of gossip for weeks and she and her womb would be the hopes of the kingdom. She'd love the attention.

All he had to do was find some poor sap to inflict her on. Preferably someone who wouldn't mind her crassness. Some Iberian or Umbirian princeling, perhaps, didn't they appreciate recklessness and wild passion more than sense? It'd be a good connection trade-wise, too. He should introduce the matter to Queen Elsa one of these days, but delicately. It wouldn't do to remind her of just how cruel he'd been to Anna. Hans felt hesitantly hopeful. Things weren't so bad. He just needed enough time to prove himself, to benefit Arendelle, to make himself seem indispensable to Elsa.

Tracking and capturing whoever was spreading the treasonous pamphlets would help. Hans had had a quiet word with Arnesen regarding that, the day before. The Royal Guard was recruiting along with the Court, and he wanted Arnesen to recruit someone very specific.

"We need a man who is absolutely faithful to Her Majesty till the end, no matter what," he'd said. Arnesen had pulled himself up.

"Look no further, sir. I'm ready for whatever is required." Hans had smiled at him.

Arnesen was a fine commander, seasoned, sharp, well-loved and loyal. His family had served and protected House Frossenskjold-Galte of Arendelle for generations, and he was fiercely proud of that. He was also fiercely ashamed of having opposed Queen Elsa out of superstitious fear, and burned with a desire to restore his family honour. (Loyalty that intense couldn't be bought.) Hans had a quiet respect for Arnesen, whom he perceived to be a honest, straightforward man who simply tried to do his duty as best he could. Commanders like that were the bedrock of a steady rule, and worth infinitely more than pretentious officers with fancy names, arrogant manners and the quiet loathing of their men.

"I have no doubt your loyalty and bravery are unmatched," he'd said, "but we need someone less known. We need someone who is unwaveringly faithful _within_ but who, on the _outside_, appears to be a god-loving young man, ripe for recruitment into a movement attacking the witch-queen." Arnesen had understood. "I trust your ability to unearth such a man. Remember, he must appear to quietly despise the Queen and her ungodly magic from the moment he steps foot into the city. No-one except me, you and Queen Elsa can know the truth." Arnesen had nodded, chewing his lip in deep thought.

"I won't let you down, sir. I believe I might know someone."

•••

Hans sighed and brought his attention back down to the desk. He wished he, himself, knew someone who could tell him how to establish and run a secret service. He did know some basic principles, but the specific details in the field of espionage were, for obvious reasons, difficult to come by. He couldn't just write the governments of foreign countries and politely request they give him detailed descriptions of how they ran their secret intelligence departments.

For lack of a better teacher, he was writing to his brother Hafleikr for any advice he might have. Hans also told him truthfully his situation, hiding the real message in a letterful of seemingly mundane chit-chat with a simple cipher. They'd held a steady correspondence through the years, ever since Haffan had first gone to sea, and had learned early on to hide anything private behind turned phrases and counted words. Hafleikr was almost always at sea, and their letters had to first make it to the Naval Command Headquarters, who'd then direct it to where-ever they estimated the recipient might be able to pick it up. It was a slow process full of delays where someone in their family might "accidentally" read it and decide to "forget" to forward it out of sheer spite.

Hans skimmed through the letters he'd written to various other brothers as a ruse. He was writing to Haakon, Hrolf, Hanno (the second-youngest), and vile Hallbjørn, that prick. Unfortunately, he was their mother's darling, and demonstrating brotherly affection towards him was a necessity. Hans praised Arendelle's nature to him, urging him to go and experience the charming, gorgeous, _breathtaking_ wilderness between Arendelle and Agdair some beatiful spring day. Hans had noted the roadsides were rich with lupine and silverwillow. Hallbjørn got severe hayfever from both.

When he'd checked and sealed the letters, Hans got up to get rid of his writing notes as usual, especially his little marriage memorandum. Queen Elsa was to join him around noon - in about 20 minutes - to look through the history books with him, searching for information about the possible origin of her powers, and he definitely did not want a paper detailing his intentions lying around, ready to be accidentally discovered. He walked to the fireplace, noticing the heavy candlesticks on the table were the very ones Agdair had gifted to Queen Elsa. Hans poked at the embers, hoping to wake the fire without having to use a match, thinking about the Agdair visit, the gravestones, Elsa in the stream; the first moments of deeper intimacy between them. The moment he'd really fallen for her. The fire flared to life and he crouched down, feeding his papers in one by one, watching his words burn, deep in thought.

Suddenly the door opened and the light steps of a woman hurried into the room. Elsa was early. Hans shoved the rest of his papers into the fire, stirring it with the poker to make sure the marriage note would burn to ashes when he heard the steps stop, hesitate and continue straight at him in a run, a candlestick scraping against the table as it was picked up. He'd have recognised the sound of an incoming attack anywhere. Adrenaline surged through him, his battle training kicked in and Hans clumsily turned mid-crouch and raised the poker into a parry.

He managed to block Anna's bludgeoning strike, though the force of it almost made him lose his balance. He scrambled to stand up as she swung the candlestick again, bellowing for the guards. Hans backed away from her, blocking her blows with relative ease once back on his feet. She was surprisingly strong, but her attack was all brutal ferocity and no form, easy to anticipate and leaving her open for a counterattack. He could easily have overpowered her, but she'd have suffered injuries, and that would upset Elsa. _What the devil has got into her?_

"Calm down," he shouted at her over the clangour of the fight. Anna didn't hear him, immersed in her battle-rush, her freckle-tanned face contorted with anger and effort, her braids swinging through the air with her blows. She looked wild, almost savage. Hans heard other people run into the room, but he didn't dare divert his attention from the fight.

"Anna!" Someone shouted, a man.

"Calm down," Hans called again, evading and parrying, stepping further back to show he wasn't the aggressor.

"Anna, stop!" Elsa's voice blended in with his.

"Seize him," Anna shouted breathlessly over them, "he was lurking," she struck again, "to attack Elsa!"

"I was _not_," he countered, finally lunging in and disarming her with a heavy gliding twirl of the poker. The candlestick clattered to the floor. "I was tending to my correspondence while waiting for Her Majesty to attend our meeting." For a heartbeat, Anna looked like she might dive after the candlestick and continue her attack, but a blonde man rushed in to stand between them, and she only glared daggers at Hans from behind him. Hans glared back. Lundh sidled over, picked the candlestick up and stood next to them, confused, looking from one person to the next.

"Liar," she hissed, "you tried to kill me!"

"_You_ attacked _me_! From behind!"

"You were sneaking about! Prowling for prey!" Hans rolled his eyes.

"Anna," Elsa said meekly.

"And how dare you try to lie to my face about a 'meeting'! As if I'd ever fall for something that outrageous!" _Hang on_.

"How did you escape? It doesn't matter, you're going back in now. Arrest him," she commanded Lundh, who gave Hans a baffled look. A realisation started to dawn on him. Hans glanced at Queen Elsa and found her twisting her fingers and pursing her lips, pale and clearly uncomfortable. The air around her seemed to be cooling, ever so slightly.

"Anna," she pleaded again.

_Oh,_ Hans thought. _Oh my_. Anna, Lundh and the stranger all shifted their eyes from him to Elsa, taking in her wretched air. Anna's eyes widened.

_She hasn't told her._ This was going to be interesting.

"Elsa," Anna said, hesitating, "he _is _lying, right?" Queen Elsa twisted her hands into a knot, opening and closing her mouth like a fish on dry land, not finding the words. Anna gazed searchingly at her.

"I," the Queen struggled, "I meant to tell you earlier, but I- I didn't know how, I didn't want to put it in a letter. And I thought I had more time, you weren't supposed to return for-"

"I wanted to surprise you," Anna said flatly. "I missed you."

"I missed you too," Elsa said, miserable. "I'm glad you're back. Welcome home."

Anna stared at her sister. "I'm here now. Why is _he_?" She nodded in Hans' direction. "Why isn't he locked up at the Southern Isles?" Elsa opened her mouth, gesturing at him, but managed only a faint, helpless half-grunt.

"Her Majesty and I discussed matters thoroughly and reached an understanding," Hans said calmly, placing the poker back in front of the fireplace and straightening his coat. Anna and the rather quaintly dressed blonde stranger turned to gape at him as if he was a stone statue come to life.

"An _understanding_?"

"Yes," he replied. "We've formed an arrangement that benefits both of us." They stared at him, dumbfounded. Hans wondered briefly who the strange young man was. He definitely wasn't nobility, that was plain as day, not even middle class. His manner wasn't subdued enough for a servant, either. A peasant, delivering goods? He was certainly unkempt enough for one, but his clothes seemed strangely exotic, and there was something wild about him. And something weirdly familiar.

_A sapmish, of course_. He was one of those northern wandering savages, he'd heard about them, riding reindeers, wrestling bears, living in huts of snow and skins. How interesting. The young man was glaring at him with open hostility, and Hans wondered if relinquishing the poker had been a mistake. One never knew with these uncivilised barbarians.

"Arrangement?" Anna repeated, returning her stare to Elsa. "_Beneficial_?" Really, she was so simple it hurt.

"Indeed," he said. "I'm working for Her Majesty as her personal steward, to compensate for my, ahem, offences." Anna's mouth fell open.

"Whuh-what?_ Personal steward?"_ Queen Elsa finally found her voice.

"Anna, can we have this conversation in private? Please," she sighed. "I have a lot to explain."

Princess Anna looked like she would argue, but thought better of it and just nodded, crossing her arms and peering at Hans from the corner of her eye.

"Pri- hm. _Mr. Vestergaard_, I'll send for you later, when necessary," the Queen said, and he bowed smoothly.

"As you say, Your Majesty. Your Highness." Anna didn't respond. The native's glare followed him out of the room.

Lundh, who escorted him, lifted his eyebrows after the door had closed, and Hans widened his eyes as an answer. They walked for some time in silence before Hans asked if he could go spend one of his hours with Sitron, and since the Queen hadn't specifically ordered Hans to his cell, he had some hours left for that week, and Lundh himself wanted to catch a glimpse of the new kitchen maids the Cook was interviewing, he couldn't see why not.

Hans thought about what he'd just learned. Anna had apparently been travelling all this time, which explained why she hadn't bothered them - but she also hadn't known about their arrangement. Hans took his time thinking through that particular thought. Queen Elsa hadn't seen fit to inform Princess Anna, her only living family member and second-in-line to the throne, that she'd employed the same man who'd toyed with Anna's heart, abandoned her to die and tried to steal their throne. Elsa had kept him her own little secret, and had been working, smiling, riding and dining with him behind Anna's back, as it were.

_Oh my, indeed._ Hans had to keep a straight face while in company, but once they'd reached the stables and he'd solemnly sworn he wouldn't escape while Lundh slipped away to see the girls, he was left alone to grin as widely as he pleased.

•••

There was a reindeer at the stables.

Hans stood dumbfounded, staring at the strange animal nonchalantly lounging in the stall next to Sitron, calmly chewing hay as if it was just another horse among others. He'd never seen one before. He studied it carefully, gingerly stepping closer to get a better look at the antlers, reaching out with his hand to let it get acquainted with him. The reindeer sniffed at him with mild, friendly interest.

"Easy," he said softly. "Hey."

"Get away from him," a gruff voice came from the doors. _Oh, so the savage can speak._

"Is this your reindeer?"

"I said get away from him." The man walked closer, tense, fists balled, anticipating a confrontation. Raised by wolves, truly.

"All right," Hans said, annoyed, pulling his hand back, "I won't touch him. And you watch your tone, understood?" _Why does he look so familiar?_

"Don't tell me what tone to take. Where's your guard?"

Who the heck did he think he was, speaking to him like an equal? Hans felt his ire rise. He wasn't in the habit of letting commoners, let alone natives treat him insolently and get away with it.

"At the kitchens. I gave my word." The sapmish twisted his mouth.

"Your word isn't worth much, from what I hear." Why was he angling for a fight? Hans studied him, and suddenly placed the brute in his memory; he'd been on the ship-deck, behind Elsa and Anna, when Hans had regained consciousness and the winter was gone. He remembered that glare.

_Of course_. He was probably the reason Anna had made it back alive. She'd hired him to guide her around the wilderness, displaying some sense for once. She'd thought him exciting - an exotic man with a mystical bond with the land, that sort of thing - and had kept him on as a curiosity servant. He'd seen some of those being paraded about. Great conversation-starters at parties. Hans regarded him silently, taking in his tense, outraged air. And then he understood.

Anna was probably the first woman of rank he'd ever seen in his life, and this simple soul had developed a hopeless little crush on her, imagining it was love. Hans had jilted his precious little princess, and he was probably both angry at her behalf and jealous of him.

"The worth of my word isn't your concern," he said, eyeing him up. "Why are you here?"

"I should ask _you_ that." Infuriating.

"You're not in the position to ask me anything. And you'll address me as _Sir_ from now on, understood?" The native's lip curled up into a weird half-grimace, almost showing his teeth.

"I'm in the position to teach you a lesson, if you don't fix your attitude."

"_My_ attitude?" Hans let out a half-chuckle and went to brush Sitron, talking to him over his shoulder. "What do you think the Princess would think of you if she saw you now, threatening and growling like this? Is this behaviour fit for a royal court?" That gave him pause. _A-ha._ He was worried about what Anna thought of him. As well he should be.

"She likes me just fine," the man spat. Oh, definitely insecure. Hans smiled.

"I'm sure she does. I have no doubt she finds you interesting and _exotic,_ so different from _her usual sphere_." He flushed red. Hans almost felt bad for baiting him. He was so simple he didn't hide his emotions at all, but instead allowed everything to show in his face and manner. It was like being mean to a child. "Does she know of your infatuation, by the way?" He wondered if the man would try to deny it.

"It's not infatuation. I love her. She loves me." His frankness caught Hans slightly by surprise.

"Quite the declaration! You'd better learn some manners, if you want to keep serving the Princess," he said nonchalantly.

"Serving?" His voice was so smug Hans couldn't help glancing at him. The native had crossed his arms and was smirking at him, self-assured. "I'm an independent contractor. Official Arendelle Ice Master and Deliverer, by personal appointment of Queen Elsa." An unpleasant feeling started to creep at pit of Hans' stomach. _Personal_ appointment? "And I don't _serve_ Anna. We're officially courting."

They _what_?

The shock almost sent Hans reeling, but thankfully his back was turned towards the native. Anna, Princess of Arendelle, was courting with a _common-born labourer?_ A _native_ labourer, no less? Good god, she was absolutely out of control. What next, would she start an affair with some disease-ridden beggar off the street out of boredom? He'd really dodged a bullet with her. Poor Elsa, he mused, it would be a real challenge to rule with an embarrassment like that for a sister.

And then the implications of it all hit him. Anna was off the marriage market, for good. There wasn't a self-respecting nobleman alive who'd touch her with a ten-foot pole after she'd been publicly cavorting about with a native reindeer-herder, travelling unchaperoned with him for weeks. If she didn't marry this foul-smelling savage, her reputation would be forever ruined. A poor, ignorant, lowborn man like him would never bring any sort of assurance or credibility to the Arendelle royal family, quite the opposite. Elsa would have to marry very well and very _soon_ to mitigate this disaster and keep Arendelle from appearing like a doomed country ruled by incompetent barbarians, witches and lustful women.

A cold flood of desperate fury overwhelmed him. Hans was angry, blindingly angry at Anna, at this man, at himself, at everything. His already meagre chances with Elsa had diminished crucially. He no longer had the time he needed. Frustration and wrath swirled in him, black and burning, gaining strength. This bloody savage had stolen the time from him with his outrageous aspirations, daring to ensnare Princess Anna. Hans squeezed the brush so hard his knuckles were white, grinding his teeth. _Control yourself._ He wanted to scream, wanted to break something, to let out the powerless frustration. _Don't let him see he got to you._ He wanted to hurt someone. He took a deep breath, hoping his voice would be steady.

"Well, congratulations," he said lightly, his back still turned. "How sweet. I have to say, she certainly moves fast when it comes to matters of the heart, doesn't she?"

"You have _no right_ to talk of Anna like that." The man's voice was a vicious growl.

"Why not?" Hans kept brushing Sitron. "I'm her former fiancé, after all." He heard an indignant huff.

"You tried to _kill her_, you dirty snake!"

"Is that what she claims? I'll have you know I did no such thing." He threw the man a smile over his shoulder. "There was nothing to be done. I merely left her to her fate." The savage was staring at him, incredulous and wroth.

"She _loved_ you," he hissed. "You betrayed her and broke her heart!"

"Oh, did I? And how long did it take for her _utterly broken_ heart to heal? A whole day? How very convenient that you were there to pick up the pieces." Hans turned to face the man, raising his eyebrow. "Or did Anna perhaps anticipate _my _betrayal with some private little betraying of her own?" At least the savage had the grace to blush.

"We never, uh, I didn't-"

"We were _engaged_, you know," Hans cut him short. "Tell me, how many hours did it take for her to forget her _true love_ for me once he met you - ten, twenty, forty?"

"What? I - we-"

"It's a simple question. I got together with her after one day. How long did it take you?"

"You _shut up_."

"Of course," Hans continued, "when _we_ met, she was more than available, which should be taken into account. In fact, I'm possibly the first eligible man she encountered. She was so very _eager and willing _for love, it was amusing. And then the very next day, she met you, her next fiancé-to-be!" He chuckled. "What are the chances?"

"Stop it." He would break soon. The anticipation for the fight was tingling pleasantly in him, the battle-lust hissing through his veins with a bright, focused clarity. The man was taller than him and seemed strong and tough, a sturdy labourer - but Hans had been fighting bigger and stronger enemies all his life, multiple ones most of the time, and he'd learned how to balance an uneven fight with a few tricks of his own. He stepped away from Sitron, supposedly focusing on the tack. He was ready.

"Considering," Hans said contemplatingly, "that despite being an ideal match and officially engaged to her, I managed to keep her interest for only, what, thirty hours once she was alone with a new, exciting man, I wonder how long _you_ will manage, once the novelty wears off?" He turned to give a dazzling grin at the man, who had gone white and was now staring at him with sheer hatred in his eyes, breathing hard. Hans went over him with his eyes, giving his most disdainful look for emphasis. "Three hours, I'd wager." He turned his back at him to deliver the final blow. _Come on, you bastard._ "Seven, maybe, if you'd wash occasionally."

Hans sensed rather than heard the swing. His senses were taut and humming, and he dodged the anticipated blow with ease, countering it with two sharp jabs to the face. The first one connected nicely with the jaw, but the brute managed to get an arm up to slow the second one, trying to knock him in the face with his elbow. Hans moved away and landed a good straight punch at his ribs, but was shoved slightly off-balance and the brute followed with a blow Hans had to painfully block with his own arm. He feinted left and managed to land a hook to the stomach and another very satisfying punch right at the face, but the savage swung back with crushing strength and surprising focus despite it, forcing him to parry, and his next punch hit his face, flashing white in his vision. Adrenaline surged through him, and he managed to somewhat block the next one and hit back.

_Damn, he's hardy_, he thought before the fight enveloped them both. They became a snarling, growling, panting half-wrestle of punches and jabs and kicks and elbows to the face. Hans took many hits, some of which were probably serious, but they didn't feel too bad through the numbing fury, and he blocked what he could, focusing mainly on trying to hurt his opponent. He landed good hits, too, and the rush of the fight made him feel incredibly alive. He managed to grab the savage by the hair despite taking one more hit to the ribs and went to break his nose when suddenly the world went dark and cold and he couldn't move.

•••

It took Hans a while to understand that they'd been buried in snow. It meant that Elsa was there and had seen the fight. _Well, shit. _The coldness chased the adrenaline and the anger away, and regret and throbbing pain crept in. Hans lay still under the snow, taking stock of the situation.

_That wasn't clever._

It was unbelievably stupid, to be honest. The savage was, after all, Anna's current fiancé. There'd be hell to pay for brawling with him. It was practically attacking the royal family, and in his current situation that was a catastrophic move. Hans' ribs ached sharply, breathing seemed to hurt quite a bit. He was disappointed in himself for losing control like this, allowing his emotions cloud his thinking and undermine him once again. He would look bad in Elsa's eyes, too, like an uncontrollable, violent, dangerous thug. His face was throbbing. He was fairly sure he was going to look a real fright for the next couple of weeks, which certainly wouldn't help in seducing her, either.

But still, in some small way it had been worth it. The suffocating, maddening pressure of frustration and anger had left him, and the pleasant afterglow of the fight and the adrenaline was pulsating slowly through his body. Elsa's slightly muffled voice called them through the snow.

"Stop this at once! Get up!"

There was no choice but to obey, however unwillingly.

The snow wasn't terribly heavy nor thick, but digging himself out of the snowdrift was still sheer agony. Hans' body was aching and pulsing with pain all over, and he hissed when he struggled to his feet. He'd definitely broken a rib or two.

"_Sáhtána helvet,_" the sapmish grunted under his breath while getting gingerly up, pained as well. Hans could guess the meaning.

Both Elsa and Anna were standing in front of them, wearing curiously similar expressions of shock - though Elsa's tinged more with astonishment, while Anna's alternated between fury and worry. The men stood slowly up in front of them, silent and chagrined.

"What happened?" Elsa's voice strove for sternness but faltered, revealing concern. They lifted their faces.

"Kristoff!" Anna rushed to the bruised native's side. "Oh no! Are you okay?" She whipped around towards Elsa. "See? I _told_ you he shouldn't be trusted," she cried out. "Look at what he did! He's dangerous!" Hans met Elsa's confused, questioning eyes, and felt ashamed.

"What happened," Elsa demanded again. "Who started this?" She alternated her gaze between them. Any moment now, the sapmish - "Kristoff", apparently - would blame it all on him, say that he insulted the princess, claim he was just defending her honour, maybe lie Hans struck first. Hans closed his eyes for a heartbeat. One of his molars hurt and felt a bit loose, and he pressed it in with his tongue, feeling thoroughly miserable, waiting for his hopes to be destroyed.

But there was only some uncomfortable, hesitant coughing.

Hans peeked at the native from the corner of his eye and found him looking embarrassed, glancing here and there, unsure of what to say. _He's embarrassed he attacked me from behind_, Hans realised. _He doesn't want to lie and he doesn't want them to know he struck first._ A chance.

"Who started this, I asked," Queen Elsa repeated, looking at Hans. He cleared his throat and felt the native look at him. Hopefully he'd follow his lead.

"I don't remember, Your Majesty," he muttered. They all stared at him. "You _don't remember_?" Queen Elsa looked at this Kristoff, who shrugged and promptly winced from the movement.

"He's lying, of course," Anna huffed while dabbing the blood from her fiancé's face with her handkerchief. "Kristoff doesn't start fights. Right? He started it, didn't he?"

"I really don't remember either, Anna," the native muttered. Hans almost smiled to himself, but the attempt hurt his bruised face. His lip seemed to have split. Elsa let out an exasperated sigh.

"Well then, what were you fighting about?" The men exchanged a bewildered look.

"Uhm," Kristoff said.

"Horses," blurted Hans.

"Horses?" The way the girls spoke together was uncanny. Kristoff seemed to be holding his breath.

"Well, their superiority." Hans sniffed. _Come on, play along, you oaf._ "I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but considering that _animal_ to be a steed is a joke."

"You shut your mouth," Kristoff said. "Sven's the best mount there is." Good, he wasn't that dumb, after all.

"You really can't compare some antlered cow to a proper horse," Hans countered. "It looks ridiculous."

"Who cares about _looks_," Kristoff huffed. "Sven can pull a loaded sled in deep snow _and _carry a rider and is more loyal and intelligent than most men." Hans clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes for show. "In the wild, it's reliability that'll save your life, not some fancy, useless _looks_!"

"_Enough!_" Elsa's voice was like a whip. "What's the matter with you? Two grown men getting into a fist-fight over an argument about whose mount is better?" They both shuffled their feet in the melting snow and did their best to look sheepish. The Queen groaned loudly.

"_Men! _ Now, shake hands and apologise to each other. Both of you! Sven and Sitron are both fine animals and excellent steeds, all right?" They muttered something to that effect and shook hands, both doing their best to crush the other and not wince from the pain, staring each other down. "And this will _never_ happen again, is that understood?"

"Yes ma'am," they said.

"Kristoff, we have to get Dr. Gravdal to look at you," Anna fussed. "Come on."

"I'm fine," he insisted gently as his fiancée pulled him away, smiling.

Hans was left alone in the stables with Queen Elsa, who studied him silently for a good while. The only sound came from Sven the reindeer, contentedly chewing hay.

"Does it hurt," she finally asked, softly.

"A little, Your Majesty," he lied. The pain was increasing each moment. Elsa sighed.

"I'll have the doctor pay you a visit, later on," she said. "After he's seen to Kristoff. When…" her voice faded away. Hans nodded. When Anna wouldn't notice.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," he said and tried to bow, but it was a pitiful attempt. A groan of pain escaped him, and when he lifted his gaze, he imagined he saw some tender worry briefly flicker in Elsa's eyes.

She waved him off without another word.

–

* _Satan's hell_, in North Sami (Davvisámegiella)

** _Sápmi_ is the Sami name for the cultural region in Lapland where they live, spanning over the areas of 4 countries.

*** I feel it should be noted that I intend Hans' rather disdainful attitudes towards "natives" or "savages" indicate the general attitudes of the times, rather than his personal character. So Hans isn't particularly racist - pretty much anyone with his background, education and breeding would share the same, if not even sharper views. It's a huge deal that Anna got together with Kristoff.


	8. where a queen examines a puzzle

_I think it's still Leap Day somewhere, everything is upside down according to tradition, women can brazenly take the initiative and propose to men, even - and I manage to update the fic._

_So sorry. I started to study a new field and have been brutally overwhelmed by the amount of studying I need to do, my life has been revolving around cramming and frivolities like social relationships and hobbies faded away somewhat. But still working in APU! (I swear though, I'll never complain about GRRM taking forever with A Song of Ice and Fire again.)_

_If you haven't seen it yet, check out the new __**background info google doc**__ I made, it has a character listing, the music I listen to when writing and some other stuff; _

**https:** [double slash] **goo** [point] **gl** [slash] **zMTHR6**

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VIII

_where a queen examines a puzzle_

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.

"Quite a brawl, by the look of things, Your Majesty," Dr. Gravdal said, methodically taking his things from his bag one by one, cleaning and returning each to its proper place, occasionally stopping to make an addition to his notes. "They're both rather battered, but rest assured, they'll live. There shouldn't be lasting injuries on either - not even any damage to their fine features, I believe."

The court doctor's examination room also doubled as his study. It was an eerie place, Elsa felt, a cabinet full of drugs and chemicals in large brown glass containers on one wall, and the tall, imposing shelves along the other filled with foreign books on illnesses, injuries and the finer details of death and its workings. On the higher shelves, gruesome samples of life's missteps floated quietly in large jars of spirit.

Elsa repressed a shudder. She distantly remembered the endless, useless examinations she'd gone through in this room as a child, a hazy muddle of fear, embarrassment and quiet despair in her mother's eyes. The memories had blended together over the years into a disturbing, nameless unease she associated with the room.

A strange medical, chemical odour always hung in the air, smelling salts and camphor, perhaps, mixed with rubbing alcohol and something else. It gradually seeped into the clothes of each new palace doctor, eventually infusing them with an unnerving presence that followed them where-ever they went. Dr. Gravdal had a mighty beak of a nose that made him look like an old vulture, and in his black, long-tailed coat smelling of illness and infirmaries, he reminded Elsa of some ominous harbinger of death and misery, despite his quiet kindness. She sometimes wondered if the good doctor's deep fascination in death and all its aspects really helped him ward it off, rather than invite it in.

"Do they require any special care, Doctor?" _Does Prince Hans need any special care,_ she meant. "How long will it take for them to heal?"  
"They've both suffered several injuries, including fractured bones, Majesty," the Doctor said distractedly, cleaning an instrument with alcohol. "I've patched them up, but healing takes time. I'd recommend several days of bed rest for both, and caution for a good while after that, too." He placed the instrument in a drawer, took another from his bag and begun to clean that before continuing, talking to Elsa over his shoulder. "They're active young men, and I noted both belittled their pain during my examination. I assume they'll try to tough it out, as they say, and try to return to normal as soon as possible. Which is a bad idea."

Dr. Gravdal turned to glare at Elsa over his spectacles. "A very bad idea, indeed. Injuries ought to be respected. A fractured rib is no laughing matter, Your Majesty. Vigourous movement might displace the bone, which could puncture the lung, leading to death." Elsa's eyes widened. She felt, vaguely, like a child being chastised, as if he blamed her for the fight.  
"I'll make sure they'll rest enough," she offered. Dr. Gravdal grunted an assent, scrutinising her with his sharp eyes for a heartbeat more before turning his attention back to his work. Elsa waited for a while before she piped up, her voice faltering in the silence.

"Is- is he in any pain?" The doctor gave her an inquiring look. "Mr. Vestergaard, I mean."  
"He would be, but I administered a hefty dose of laudanum. He should be soundly asleep until tomorrow afternoon. With your permission, I'll keep monitoring him and administering the doses for a few days… but no longer," he said, so distractedly Elsa wondered if he wasn't talking to himself more than her. "Mr. Bjorgman too. I'd like to have them on as little medication as possible."  
Elsa thanked him quietly and slipped away, relieved to escape the memories etched in the room's high, yellow walls.  
"Won't do to give too much," Dr. Gravdal muttered, scribbling in his notebook as she was closing the door. "Won't do at all."

It was late evening, and Elsa should have gone to her rooms to prepare for bed, exhausted after an eventful day. It's what she'd told Anna as she'd warmly hugged her goodnight after a vivid, hours-long conversation that had stretched and meandered on over the day. Anna hadn't minded, and had slipped off to tend to Kristoff, half-conscious as he was from the medication.

But instead, Elsa found herself heading downstairs, to the cell level. She would just check on him quickly, no harm in that. He was a political prisoner, after all, and in fact it was her duty to make sure he was all right, to avoid a diplomatic crisis with their neighbour, she told herself.

In her bosom, a persistent tangle of worry over him had kept billowing through the day, despite her attempts to suffocate it. She'd sat with Anna as she fussed over Kristoff, doing everything she could to care for her beloved. Watching her tender administrations had set off some alien tremor in Elsa's heart, a new yearning she'd never encountered before. Her thoughts had waywardly drifted off to Prince Hans, and every half-suppressed groan and grunt that escaped Kristoff while the doctor cleaned his wounds and inspected him made Elsa flinch slightly and remember that all the while, her steward lay similarly injured in a cold dungeon, alone, waiting for the doctor to spare him a moment, too.

She'd had to keep silent. She couldn't let Anna know she wanted to give her care and comfort to the man who'd betrayed and tried to kill them both. Elsa sighed as she ran her fingers along the cold, rough stone walls of the cellar levels, iceflowers slowly blooming on the walls at her trail.

Anna hadn't approved at all, as she'd feared. She had still been agitated after the library incident, bristling with fiery, incredulous indignation, demanding that Hans be removed from Arendelle at once.  
"_Why is he still here_? Why is he walking around freely? I can help you rule. Kai or the royal cabinet will help you rule. There's no reason to keep that _snake_ here." She'd paced around, restless like a caged animal, before spinning around to face her. "Elsa, he'll try to kill us again, he's plotting something, I'm sure of it! He's dangerous, can't you see that?"  
"Anna, he's useful," she'd sighed, trying to pacify her. "I told you, he's excellent at politics." She'd swallowed before making the confession.  
"I need him."  
Her sister had stared at her with wide eyes, her expression so full of disbelief and hurt that Elsa had felt absolutely rotten.  
"Need him? _That man_? No, you don't," she'd huffed. " What we - what _Arendelle_ needs is to be rid of him, for good. His words are poison. Come on, Elsa, I'm sure you're far better at ruling than him," she'd coaxed, and the clear, bright faith in her face and voice had pricked sharply at Elsa's heart.  
"No, Anna, I'm not. I'm really not. I'm- I'm in over my head. It's all so much. The country is in dreadful shape. And there are other problems, too."

She'd had to sit down, rubbing her eyes, preparing for the admission. "There've been attacks of dissent against me."

"What?" All anger had vanished from Anna's countenance, and she'd stepped closer, placing a comforting hand on Elsa's shoulder. "What attacks? By whom?"  
"I don't know," she'd sighed. "Anonymous pamphlets full of disgusting lies about me have been spread around town. Accusing me of witchcraft, and - and _other,_ abhorrent things."  
Anna's eyes had narrowed.  
"He's behind it, I bet."  
"Prince Hans?" A stern nod. "He's locked in a cell and always escorted by a guard when he's out. It can't have been him. He can't do anything without me knowing about it," she'd said. Anna hadn't believed her for a moment.  
"It's him, I'm telling you," she'd huffed, pointing a finger at Elsa. "You'll see. He wants revenge. You're harbouring a scheming viper at your bosom, and sooner or later you'll get bitten."

_Revenge._

She scraped her knuckles across the rough stones in a vain attempt to attain some clarity to her thoughts. She quickly pulled her hand back to her side when she reached the guard, and nodded a curt greeting to the surprised man springing to his feet while trying to hide a game of solitaire spread over the stone steps. Elsa informed him that she was there just to check on Mr. Vestergaard, nothing more, and no, she didn't need to be accompanied, thank you. She could feel her pulse pick up and drum nervously under her skin as the cell door was opened for her and she stepped in.

Elsa stood still on the steps of the dark cell, listening as the soft quietness settled itself back in over the echo of the door clanging shut and the guard's receding footsteps. It took her eyes a while to get used to the dimness, the shadows dancing on the walls in the torchlight coming through the tiny peephole in the door. She could make out his form lying on the cot, so still that if it hadn't been for his slow, steady breathing, he might have been mistaken for a corpse.

"Prince Hans," she called politely, just to be sure. He didn't even twitch.

Elsa walked to him, slowly, half-expecting him to jolt awake any moment, a strange thrill of impropriety and illicitness vibrating in her. The prince had been propped up into a half-sitting position with various things; a pillow, his towel, his winter coat and other assorted pieces of clothing, all bundled up. Elsa thought distractedly that she ought to allocate him some more pillows and a spare blanket or two, before she caught a better look of his face in the faint moonlight and gasped.

His handsome features were in awful shape, swollen and bruised so badly he was almost unrecognisable. He had black bruises all over his upper body, as well, or at least on what skin she could see from under the blanket. Some were bandaged. The thick smell of liniment hung in the air, and Elsa saw that the un-bandaged bruises were glistening with it. She gave a sigh, taking in in the extent of the damages, and then gingerly sat on the edge of the cot. It creaked under her weight.

"Hans," she called again, softer, once more rousing no reaction from him.

Elsa sat there in silence for some time, watching him and listening to his heavy breathing. Staring at men was very improper and most unqueenly, but since he was unconscious, she could study him at peace. She let her gaze travel across him, lingering here and there; making its way from his hair and the tip of his long, thankfully unbroken nose to his freckled chest and broad shoulders, to his strong arms and bruised hands, to the contours of his steadily heaving body beneath the blanket, and finally settling on his bare left foot poking out at the far end of the blanket.

Elsa wondered if he was cold. The cell _was_ quite damp, now that she thought about it, she'd forgotten how dismal it was down here. She reached over to pull the blanket back over him, but a wild fancy struck her and she ran her finger down the sole of his foot, very softly, just to see what would happen.

Prince Hans twitched his foot, grunted and shifted slightly. Nothing else.

Elsa tucked his foot in and sat back up, contemplating him some more. His left arm was sprawled up, and he'd turned his face towards it so that the shadows cast by the cold moonlight hid the worst damage. From this angle, he resembled himself again; handsome, young - and vulnerable. Elsa placed her hand carefully on the blanket, sensing more than feeling his body underneath, trying to make some order of the tangle of feelings and emotions fluttering and churning in her whenever she was in his presence.

_I need him_, she'd told Anna.

_When did that happen_? There was need, truly, in more ways than she cared to admit; a new type of need was growing and gaining strength within her, tangling itself with other feelings so rampantly she couldn't tell her emotions apart any more. He enticed her, _that_ she could identify, the persistent pull, a near-constant desire to press against him and feel his touch.  
_It's folly_, she thought, running her fingertips feather-light along the blanket and the chest beneath, _reckless, dangerous folly_.

She wished she could read his mind. Elsa examined his face, the large jaw, high cheekbones and long eyelashes, trying to piece all the little hints and bits of the puzzle she had collected together into a coherent portrait.

He tried to act like one man, detached, sardonic and formal, but every now and then the mask slipped. She'd started to take notice of the slip-ups, whenever he got excited about a topic or made quips that subtly revealed his opinions. And especially whenever she got him talking about himself. In those swift instances, he forgot to be proper and calculating and controlled, and something - someone else - shone through. Like a painting, fraying off and revealing a different picture beneath. It was captivating.

Elsa closed her eyes, clutching her hand into a fist atop of the blanket.  
_Know your enemy_, they said. So she'd studied him, intending to learn who he was and how he thought, trying to find a weakness and gain an advantage over him. She'd meticulously collected little pieces and bits of him, categorising and organising them like an obsessive natural taxonomist, labouring to decipher meanings behind different anecdotes and reactions and flickering expressions.

But she'd lost herself; she had waded in too deep, and he'd sunk his hooks into her. And despite becoming hopelessly mesmerised by his complexity, she still couldn't figure him out. The pieces simply didn't fit. They seemed to come from two different men.

One, who was manipulative and dangerous, a ruthless crook plotting murder and treason, who cruelly ridiculed the weak and delighted in their pain and had tried to decapitate her.

And the other, who was her indispensable advisor, who had saved her life, who taught her control, self-assurance and politics. Who had kept her citizens safe. Who murmured gently to animals when he thought he was alone and had an impish sense of humour and loved adventure books and almond-cake, and whose eyes shone like sunlit foliage when he smiled and whose velvety voice she could have listened to for hours.

Who longed for the respect and love of his family and understood what it was to forever fall short of who you were expected to be.

Which one was real? Maybe they were both him, simultaneously. Was that possible? _I'm missing a crucial piece, _ she thought. Or perhaps some of the pieces were fake. _He's dangerous_, Anna had said. It was true, wasn't it? Elsa knew that for a fact, didn't she?

Elsa squeezed her eyes shut. _Dangerous, despicable traitor,_ she thought, trying to revisit the animosity and trepidation she'd felt when she'd first struck the deal with him. She called to mind the pitch-black moment of despair on the ice when she'd thought all was lost, attempting to rouse hatred for him in her heart. _If he'd had his way, we'd both be dead, Anna and me. He's a murderer,_ she tried, but the feeling didn't come.

Instead, she remembered him describing with practised detachment how he'd watched his pet be killed. The memory rippled into him talking to Sitron in an indescribably tender voice, his face pressed to the horse's neck; then the same voice, soft and low in her ears as they rode; and finally to his alarmed, pale face with the wide green-golden eyes as he held her in his arms in the stream, the light dancing around them.

_He wants to kill me and steal my throne_, Elsa told herself, opening her eyes and staring hard at him, but the thought clanged empty without any real weight.

She opened her fist and flattened her hand.  
If she focused, Elsa found she could feel his heartbeat beneath her palm.  
This wouldn't do.

He was always looming at the periphery of her thoughts, now. Elsa would hear his voice murmur her name in empty rooms, so vividly she almost felt his breath caressing her neck and ear, could almost smell his scent and feel the warmth of his chest at her back. _Hold on to me_, he had said, arms strong and safe around her. Elsa sighed a deep, trembling sigh.

The ride had been a dreadful mistake, in hindsight. It had also been possibly the most thrilling experience she'd had in her entire life.

He'd cut such a fine figure, controlling the horse with grace. She'd forgotten what she'd been doing and had been admiring him for a long while, when suddenly he'd looked straight at her. Elsa had jumped back and hid behind the curtains, her heart thumping in her throat. She'd decided that since he now knew she'd been embarrassingly ogling him, she might as well go watch from a closer distance. She'd found him talking to Sitron in a tone she'd never heard before, a soft, incredibly gentle murmur full of affection that had send whispers shivering through her. A tone that no-one had ever used with _her_.

Prince Hans had looked incredibly handsome, his hair tousled and damp, shirt loose and sleeves rolled. He'd seemed somehow unsettled, not as collected and measured as he usually was. Elsa had suddenly wanted to make him talk and laugh, to keep him in this unusual state.  
And then he'd talked so callously of the kitten, Hindbær. Believing she'd gotten a new piece fitting the picture of the cruel monster, Elsa had felt inexplicable, crushing disappointment. But in the light of the next day, she'd seen that the piece was an entirely different one, one that showed a man who had been forced to learn to hide his feelings and view affection as undesirable weakness, and had felt the pull to him again.

When they'd ridden, she'd felt bewildering elation, a new thrill, no, several singing within her, mixing with a completely new sort of fear or excitement she'd never felt before. And there had been something about the movement, the thundering rhythm of speed, power and danger, the closeness of his body, all of it had mixed into a heady tidal wave of emotion that had carried Elsa away with it, and she'd wanted to scream out of the sheer, brilliant joy of being alive. And when he'd stopped the horse and they'd outridden all of the tense messy difficulty that remained far behind in Arendelle, down in the valley, almost out of sight - and she'd turned to face him, trembling from the excitement, loath to relinquish his touch, and the look on his face had _almost_ made her forget who they were, and in that instant the thing she'd wanted most in this world was for him to lean down and kiss her.

It was impossible, of course.

But she'd asked him to ride further, hoping to almost forget again, and that was alarming.

How much of him was an act? Was it just a performance he'd put up in order to manipulate her? Elsa thought again of the stream, of the alarm in his eyes, of all the times he'd pulled her out of the whirlpool of panic.

Maybe Anna was right, and it had been a horrible mistake to keep Prince Hans in Arendelle. Everything would be simpler and clearer, had she simply shipped him off with Du Fourberenard, the Galterrean ambassador, and forgotten about him. Perhaps it would still be the best thing to do, to pack him up and send him off. Elsa slid her hand slightly higher on his chest, and his heartbeat became clearer under her palm.

_Too late,_ she thought. _He's here and I'm tangled in a web of politics, contracts and manipulation with him. _She suspected she couldn't have forgotten about him now, even if she'd tried. If she was quite honest with herself, she suspected she didn't really mind being tangled with him, either.

Elsa crossed her hands in her lap and sat there, in the darkness, looking at his profile, examining her feelings. A waterdrop hit the floor, somewhere.

"Drat", she said, after a while, the sound echoing softly from the walls of the dungeon. "_Damn,_" she added for emphasis. Most improper.

Another wild fancy struck her, and she leaned carefully on her right hand, taking care to not lean on Prince Hans, and reached gingerly forward until she could reach his hair, tangling her fingers lightly in it. Gently, she ran her fingertips down the side of his head, noting with great interest how the hair changed from the silky strands on his crown to the coarser, thicker sideburn on his chin.

Hans sniffed in his sleep. _Like a fox cub, _flickered in her mind.

Elsa pulled herself up and clutched her hands by her chest, caressing her fingers. Highly scandalous. She'd gone mad.

This _absolutely_ wouldn't do. Elsa could feel him pulling her deeper, down into some unknown abyss, and the waters tenderly caressed and called her with a sweet siren song, and even though she knew drowning meant death and danger and disaster, she'd started to feel like it might be worth it, this enticing promise of sensations yet unknown.  
He was gaining the upper hand over her. She had to do something, to keep her head above the water.

With a sigh, Elsa tore herself up from the cot and threw one last lingering look at his unconscious form, before turning away with a sharp, determined twist. She could still feel the strands of his hair around her disobedient fingers. _Maybe that's it,_ she thought, rapping softly at the door and waiting for the guard to open it,_ I have to wrap him around my fingers and get a grip so good I can drag him around, myself._

_._

_._

_––_

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*_ Laudanum_ is a strong narcotic drug containing around 10% opium. It was very widely used to heal pretty much anything (from diarrhoea to aches and pains to insomnia to the common cold, and much more) from the late 1600s until the early 1900s, when it was finally understood that opium, cocaine, heroin etc. are actually quite addictive, and their usage began to get restricted and controlled.

It is very potent, and suicide by Laudanum overdose wasn't at all uncommon in the mid-1800s.


	9. where a queen rewards her allies

_ Oh, what is this, you say. Two updates within a month? Have I learned to be an efficient writer?_

_The answer, sadly, is no. During the long months of the hiatus, I wrote some material for chapter 8, and ended up writing so much and struggling with the editing so long I ended up posting it in two parts; this is the second. So now my buffer is gone. _

_I'm also going into a period of intense studying. I hope to keep writing through it, but in case I can't and it'll be a while before the next update, don't lose heart! I won't abandon the fic._

_Thanks for reading! And the support and feedback, it means a lot!  
_

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IX

_where a queen rewards her allies_

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Elsa wandered languidly among the shelves, deliberating on what to pick. There were things everywhere, in crates on the floor, on the shelves, hanging from the walls and even the ceiling. Some were familiar, while others were curious mysteries. It was her first time in a shop, as far as she knew.  
So far, shops appeared to be stuffy, cluttered places, smelling like a strange, varying mixture of unfamiliar things.

On the other side of the shelf, on her side packed with household items and kitchenware, she heard Anna rummaging about, muttering about strengths and finishes with Olaf and the shopkeeper's son assisting her. Elsa supposed she was looking for something outdoorsy for Kristoff. She circled around the end of the shelf, trying to look interested. Her eyes met the eager stare of the salesgirl, one of the shopkeeper's many children. The girl was stalking her around at a respectful distance, bobbing a flustered curtsey every time Elsa so much as glanced in her general direction, waiting with bated breath for a chance to be of some assistance to Her Majesty. Elsa flashed a smile at her and turned to browse the wares again before the girl would interpret it as an invitation. She had no idea what to choose. She didn't need anything, especially from a place like this.

She had to pick something, however. A new wave of pamphlets had struck. This time there had been far more than before, and the baker Oskarsen had enlisted the help of Kronstad, the general grocer, in addition to the guards. Combined, the baker's and the grocer's boys had formed an effective task force, sprinting nimbly and quietly along the streets, tearing the libel down without causing a fuss before day broke over Arendelle.

Oskarsen had sworn up and down he'd known Einar Kronstad all his life and could vouch for him, that he'd trust the man with his own life – and yet, a prickly, nauseous tangle of worry about knowledge of the incidents spreading nestled in Elsa's belly. Nevertheless, Kronstad was now involved alongside with Oskarsen, and Elsa needed to demonstrate her great appreciation of their loyalty. She had discussed it with Prince Hans, and they'd agreed that an unofficial little shopping trip would serve nicely. Had she paid them any official tributes, questions would have arisen about what, exactly, was the Queen thankful to the common shopkeepers for, but if she was simply seen patronising their establishments, it would give the vendors an air of exceptional distinction without causing suspicion. Anna had, of course, loved the idea, and Olaf had tagged along for the experience. So here she was, the queen at the general grocery, looking for something to purchase.

Elsa edged around another corner, careful to not tear her dress on the protruding – well, it looked like something horse-related – and caught a glimpse of bolts of fabric piled high in the back corner. Her interest piqued, she made her way over. The girl trailed after her like an excited shadow.

The fabric selection was quite decent, in fact. A lot of the fabrics were somewhat coarse, meant for everyday work-clothes, but the finer end was actually truly fine as far as Elsa could tell. She noticed something, reached out a hand – and suddenly the girl sprinted in front of her, climbing up the shelf like a blonde-braided squirrel, hooted a _thisoneyourmajestymaam_, and hoisted the heavy bolt down on the measuring table with surprising strength and a resounding thud the instant Elsa gave a confused nod. She felt obliged to rub the fabric between her fingers and hum appreciatively while the girl rattled off information about the merchandise; double-dyed extra-light silk damask from Umbiria, latest fashion, private importer, centuries of expertise, guaranteed to keep the colours. _It _is_ beautiful_, Elsa thought as the girl raced through the sales pitch. The fabric was a deep, brilliant blue that seemed to glow and ripple green in the light when she turned it, with gorgeous, intricately woven birds and plants in darker shades. It reminded her of a twilight garden, lush and exotic and somehow sensual. Daring and alive. Too daring for her.

"Fit for a queen, ma'am," the girl finished, blushing breathlessly, bobbing two curtseys just in case. Elsa couldn't help smiling.  
"Indeed, it's gorgeous, thank you. My, what excellent service!" The girl yanked her gaze down, suppressing a smile while muttering thanks. "But I'm not sure if I need new dresses at the moment. I'll keep it in mind, but for now, I'd like to browse a bit further?"  
"Yesm'," the girl breathed, curtseyed and slid out of the way like an oiled eel. Elsa smiled benevolently at nothing, clasped her hands and let her gaze run across the fabric shelves.

Then she saw the needlework section, tightly packed in a nook, and breathed a sigh of relief.  
The embroidery threads were also of solid quality, the silken loops gleaming softly in a wide gradient of colours. Elsa picked a lovely green, a nice bluish grey, and four loops of the shade of purple in the Arendelle coat of arms, she was always running out of it – and then a particular shade of brownish red caught her eye. It took her a heartbeat to make the connection. She ran a finger along the silk, and then it hit her.

It was the _exact_ shade of his hair.

_How uncanny._

Elsa drew a slow breath, sliding her fingers into the loop, feeling the threads flow between them, her eyelids fluttering slightly at the memory. Her treacherous heartbeat drummed in her chest. The breath she held escaped her in a quiet sigh as she stood there, eyes closed, slowly moving her fingers in the thread, transported.  
"Found something you like?"  
Anna's cheerful voice was shockingly close, and Elsa jumped and snatched her hand back as if the fiery thread had burnt her.

The loop, tangled around her fingers, came loose from the shelf and fell on the floor.

"A-a- yes! Threads! For my embroidering!" Anna was smiling at her, curious, her face aglow with excitement. Behind her, the shopkeeper's son was balancing an armful of things, blankets, bags, a lantern and at least a couple of axes and who knew what else, and Olaf was waddling behind him, carrying around him a coil of rope so large he nearly drowned in it. The salesgirl darted forward, picked the fallen loop up and held it up to Elsa with yet another curtsey.  
"Ooh, let me see! Are you getting that one, too?" Anna scrutinised the loop of reddish silk suddenly burning as bright and damning as hellfire on the salesgirl's palm, and her expression flickered in something like a distant memory, something on the tip of her tongue, a recognition in-forming. _Oh no._ "It looks-"  
"Like a-a- a _fox_, doesn't it," Elsa blurted. "I want to embroider a fox. Somewhere. A handkerchief, perhaps."  
"A fox?"  
"A cute little fox, yes," Elsa said, squeezing out a nervous smile. "I've been embroidering traditional motifs and Arendelle crocuses on everything for years. I could do something more lively for once." She sighed. "It sounds childish, doesn't it?"  
"No, no! It sounds great!" Anna grinned, her eyes sparkling. "It sounds fun! I like it! Will it be a cunning fox?"  
"Extremely cunning, and sly," Elsa said, taking the wretched loop of damnation and its tempting sultry softness from the salesgirl. "Maybe it'll bring some good luck and cunning to me, as well. I feel like I need it." Anna giggled.  
"Could you embroider one for me, too? I'd like to have a lucky fox made by you."  
"Oh, I'll embroider you several, each luckier than the next. Or maybe I'll make two different foxes," Elsa said conspiratorially, sliding her free hand around Anna's arm, "one for both of us."  
She felt slightly like a dirty liar.  
"Yours should be an arctic fox, then," Anna said, reaching into the thread shelf for a beautiful off-white loop.  
"There! Come on now, I want to show you the part with the cashier. I've been to quite a few shops, you know, on my travels in the _north_ with Kristoff, so I know how to do it properly," Anna gushed, pulling Elsa with her towards the big counter at the far front of the shop. "You have to show the salesperson _everything_ you're taking, I made a mistake with this once, they don't like it if you forget something and almost walk out -"

As they passed the fabric bolts, Elsa heard a small gasp of breath, like someone starting to say something but hesitating at the last instant, and turned to look behind her. The girl was pursing her lips, roses blooming on her cheeks, hunching slightly forward in her eagerness to speak.  
"Yes?"  
"Your Majesty, if I may, ma'am, it really flatters your pretty eyes!" Another curtsey.

Elsa stared at her for a moment, not fathoming what she was talking about at first, before bursting into a chuckle.  
"Fine, I'll take some, if you think I should," she laughed. The girl broke into a grin and slipped to the counter where the blue fabric was still spread out, producing a measuring stick from somewhere.  
"How much will Your Majesty take? Enough for a fine ballgown, at least, ma'am?  
"Yes, why not. How many _alns_ does it take," she glanced at Anna, who shrugged. Both had always had their gowns made by seamstresses. "six, eight?"  
"A full ballgown will take a lot of fabric, ma'am, for a lovely flowing hem," the girl chirped, swiftly pulling out and measuring the lengths in rhythmic movements as the fabric bolt rolled on the desk, "at least four _alns_ for the top, five in case Your Majesty might want long sleeves or a high collar, and then nearly ten for the skirt, better to take eleven, in case there's some new fashion that takes a lot. And the design is so nice, it's better to add a bit, three _alns_ at least, so there's more room to work the patterns around, ma'am. It never hurts to have some extra,Your Majesty can always have a bag or a vest made, but if there's too little it's such a bother." She'd unfurled an impressive-looking pile of the fabric, gleaming and rippling like the cool sapphire sea in shallow coves on bright summer days, when she suddenly stopped, pressed a finger on the measured spot and produced a pair of scissors, ready to cut. "Nineteen – I'd say twenty _alns_, to be sure, ma'am?"  
"Very well," Elsa said, astounded. The girl zipped through the length and folded the fabric neatly with swift expertise.

"So much," Olaf sighed admiringly, having lifted his head up from within the rope coil to see. "If it would be water-surface, you could make a whole pond out of it!"  
It was indeed a lot. But on the other hand, she had shown up to buy something expensive. And perhaps she needed something luxuriously exotic in her wardrobe, Elsa mused, as Olaf insisted on carrying the "folded water" for her.

At the cash register, Anna kept making her way through her comprehensive explanation on the procedure of buying things while the saleslady, Mrs. Kronstad herself, sorted through their purchases. Mr. Kronstad and an assortment of their children stood by, beaming proudly. Outside, a crowd was jostling for a place to peer in through the windows, eager to see what the royals were getting. Elsa felt self-conscious under the scrutiny, but Anna's endearing, bubbling excitement was infectious, and she felt her mood lift.

"…and then you give them the money, and then they give you the surplus back, and you should make sure it's the right amount. Sometimes people haggle, but in the end you have to pay what the shopkeeper says."

"It's thirty-five dalers and seventeen skillings, if it please Your Majesty, Your Highness," Mrs. Kronstad said.  
Anna gave Elsa an expectant look. It took Elsa a heartbeat to realise she was supposed to pay.  
With the money specifically reserved for this trip in the embroidered silk purse Gerda had placed this morning on her desk.  
Where it still was.

"I don't have any money with me," she admitted, mortified. "I'm sorry. I completely forgot." Anna's face fell, but Mrs. Kronstad didn't even blink.  
"It's not a problem at all, ma'am, naturally the royal family has credit at our establishment. Your Majesty only needs to sign a promissory note for the sum of the purchases, and we'll simply settle it with the palace later on, ma'am," she smiled.  
Anna brightened up.  
"Oh, that's convenient," she chirped. "Is there an upper limit for the purchases? Do you think the same practice will work in other shops, too?" Mrs. Kronstad's smile widened perceptibly.  
"No limit, Your Highness," she said in a tone dripping with honey. "And I should believe every merchant in Arendelle would be honoured to receive your custom, ma'am."  
Anna's eyes were bright with the possibilities this new notion seemed to offer, and Elsa quickly signed the note Mrs. Kronstad wrote up, before she'd think of something like buying the shop's entire stock of chocolate simply because she could.

_Even though_, Elsa thought, _that _would_ be amusing_. She wondered briefly how high a tower a shopful of chocolate would make, if one were to pile it all up. Would it reach all the way to the ceiling in the grand ballroom? Could one build a fortress out of it?

Next to her, Anna shuffled, cleared her throat and gave a sheepish look to Elsa. She snapped out of her musings and raised her brow at her.  
"Actually, I do have some money on me, if you'd still like to see how it normally goes?"  
Sensing that Anna was eager to demonstrate her know-how, Elsa nodded interestedly.  
"I'd love to," she said, scooting closer.  
"Well then," Anna said, "I need to find something small to buy… what about those socks?" She cleared her throat and spoke in a clear voice. "How much are those, please?" She pointed at a shelf behind Mrs. Kronstad, where an impressive, colourful heap of knitted woollen socks was stuffed in a wicker-basket.  
"Fifteen skillings a pair, Your Highness," she smiled. "They're of high quality, knitted by myself and my daughters out of good Alvheim wool." Anna gave a regal nod, and in an instant the basket had been brought down and the socks spread out. Anna quickly peeked at the purse she'd dug out from a pocket hidden in the folds of her skirt.  
"I have enough for more than one pair, if you want one as well," she told Elsa under her breath.

They were indeed good socks, thick and soft and sturdy, traditionally decorated, so dry and warm they almost made one hope for miserable weather just to have a reason to pull them on. Anna intensely discussed the possible dimensions of Kristoff's feet with Mrs. Kronstad while Elsa absentmindedly admired the patterns, recognising some she herself had embroidered in silk on handkerchiefs and dress-hems. One pair, peeking out from under the others, seemed a little different from the rest. Curious, Elsa pulled it out for a closer look.

The pattern had a decorative snowflake motif, white on a blue base that reminded her of ice. Of her own ice dress, in fact. She supposed it was also close to the colour of her eyes. The socks were warm and thick and large, made for a man. She stared at them for a while, deep in thought, before running her finger down the length of the sole, her eyes closed, trying to remember.

They were the right size, as far as she could tell.

She couldn't get them though, or Anna would wonder – why would she want to buy men's socks?  
"Oh, Your Majesty noticed that pair," Mrs. Kronstad said. "I hope Your Majesty doesn't think it presumptuous, but my Lena was inspired by you when she made up the design." She curtseyed quickly. "She tries to make the socks interesting, you see, and picks up ideas from things happening around her. I most sincerely hope Your Majesty isn't offended –"  
"Oh, no," Elsa said quickly. "What a fun idea. I'm very proud to have been an inspiration to your daughter. Such pretty socks, too! I think I'll get these," she smiled to Anna, "even if they're too big for me."

•••

They left the shopping to be delivered to the palace under Olaf's excited management, and wandered leisurely down the street, exchanging occasional greetings with the excited Arendelle townsfolk curtseying and bowing at them.  
Trying to appear nonchalant, they chattered somewhat loudly about Kronstad's simply charming selection of wares of such good quality, until they _just happened_ to walk past Oskarsen's bakery.

"Oh, I've heard they have the most delicious pastries, Elsa, let's go in!" Anna's excitement was very believable, she was a natural actress. As they stepped in, a mouth-watering scent of fresh bread and confections greeted them. The cheerful jingle of the little bell above the door announced their arrival.

Oskarsen's bakery aimed to be a _quality_ establishment. The display counter was filled with delicious-looking pastries, expertly decorated, and behind them on a shelf were basketfuls of different breads. The interior strove for refined sophistication, and there was even a little coffee parlour adjacent to the main shop, where people could sit in great comfort on plush sofas, enjoying refreshments and socialising. Through the decorated doorway, Elsa could glimpse mahogany tables, a great potted ficus, a bookshelf, curtains and tablecloths of fine lace, lovely blue-striped wallpaper and golden picture frames. There were even a couple of birds twittering in a cage somewhere; an elegant touch. The parlour was so cosy it resembled a private sitting room much more than a coffeehouse, no doubt intentionally. After all, it aimed to be a place where even respectable women could visit on their own, unchaperoned.

"Unheard of," Gerda had tutted when relaying the gossip to Elsa that morning while fixing her hair. "Such a strange notion, decent women loitering about the town on their own, getting into all sorts of trouble. Well, at least it's not an alehouse," she'd sighed. Elsa had hummed noncommittally, but privately she agreed with Anna's view.  
"It sounds like a grand idea!" Anna had declared. "It's such an unfair notion, thinking that women should huddle in living rooms unless they're babysat by a man. There's so much interesting stuff to see and do in the world!"

Normally, women socialised mainly at each other's houses, in private gatherings or at the esteemed cultural _salons_ hosted by the grand ladies of society. In public establishments of leisure like theatres, taverns or even coffeehouses, women appearing brazenly alone tended to be considered loose, and naturally places wishing to uphold a decent reputation discouraged unchaperoned women from frequenting them. In order to lure respectable women into their parlour for a coffee and a pastry, the Oskarsens did their best to make it seem as if the patron was just visiting at Mrs. Oskarsen's own home. There was even a little sign above the door that read _Vigdis' Salon_.

"Who's Vigdis?" Anna said. Someone coughed politely behind them.  
"That would be me, Your Royal Highness," a cheerful voice said. The sisters swung around to find a slightly plump, merry-looking woman standing behind the counter, next to an imposing but excitedly grinning man. The couple somehow blended into the bakery, so seamlessly and naturally a part of it that they hadn't noticed them at first. Elsa noticed their clothes were rather fine, like they'd dressed up. They had to be-

The man bobbed a quick bow and cleared his throat.  
"With your permission, Your Majesty and Royal Highness, may I present my wife, Vigdis Erlingsdatter Oskarsen," the man said, imitating a lofty, courtly tone.  
She gave a calm curtsey, not too deep, as if she was of high nobility and not a common tradeswoman. _Proud_, Elsa thought. _Proud and confident_.  
"And may I in my turn present my husband, the baker-master Søren Oskarsen, Your Majesty, Your Highness. It's an honour to receive you. Welcome to Oskarsen's," she said, in a tone thick with warmth – and heavy authority. Elsa got the feeling that it was Vigdis Erlingsdatter Oskarsen who was actually in charge, and not the baker himself.

Elsa and Anna gave them dignified nods.  
"It's a pleasure to be here," Anna trilled. "Everything looks so lovely and delicious!"  
"Indeed," Elsa said. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance. It is such a joy to meet the good and honest people who keep Arendelle running, for without people like you, industriously working for the good of this nation, what would become of our country?" She threw a glance around the room, making sure that apart from the eager Arendelle townsfolk outside the windows – intensely pretending they were just minding their own business and not trying to peer in to see what the royalty was up to – they were alone. Nevertheless, she lowered her voice a tad.  
"Truly, I am grateful, exceedingly grateful, of your_ continuous efforts_."  
The Oskarsens nodded in understanding.

"Don't mention it, Your Majesty," baker Oskarsen said, pulling himself up to his full, impressive height. "The Oskarsen family has always been of good stock, loyal and true. I met your father once, ma'am, God bless His Majesty's soul, and my great-great-grandfather smuggled weapons in the floursacks for the loyalists in the Galtefjelle Scuffles, some 170 years ago." He gestured to an old picture on the wall above the counter, depicting a man driving a cart full of sacks in the night, and puffed out his chest. "I know what's right and who belongs on the throne. You can always rely on us, Queen Elsa."  
"I thank you, Søren Oskarsen, and your family, with all my heart, for everything you've done," Elsa said solemnly. Baker Oskarsen hummed and blushed with gratification.  
"It's my wife Your Majesty really should thank," he said modestly. "It's her and her quick mind who figured out what to do." Mrs. Vigdis beamed.  
"Thank you too, then, Vigdis Erlingsdatter Oskarsen," Elsa said earnestly.  
"I only did my duty, ma'am," she replied. "I couldn't just stand there and look away. Vile stuff, it is, and fighting dirty, trying to ruin a woman's reputation like that. It makes me want to spit, beg Your Majesty's pardon."

A shiver skittered through Elsa, drying her mouth as it went. Suddenly, the culprits trying to defame her solidified into real people existing somewhere around her, their presence heavy in the same streets she walked, no longer mere ominous but ethereal shadows.  
"Did you see them, then," she asked.

Mrs. Vigdis nodded and leaned closer, conspiratorially.  
"When I first saw them, ma'am, I was standing next to the window in our back workroom, kneading the oatbread dough for the day – it's very nice, ma'am, I put honey in it – and I saw movement in the street. I had the lights low, I like to work that way, so they didn't spot me there."  
She spoke in a low, urgent voice, and for some reason the hair on Elsa's neck stood on end. "Two men, one a bit on the tall side, enough to knock his head on the upper bread shelves there, and the other much shorter and thin. Could have been just a boy. They had hats on, normal clothes, nothing uncommon. But the way they moved, all sneaky, putting posters up at that hour, I said to myself, Vigdis, those men are up to no good. And I told our Johan to go and see what it was about and bring it to me at once if it was interesting."

She glanced at the crowd behind the windows, pulled back and gave Elsa a meaningful look.  
"May I suggest to Your Majesty our famous _kanelboller_? Or maybe a slice of the blueberry pie, the berries were picked just yesterday," she said loudly, moving down the counter to pick up the pastries.  
"The _boller_, yes, they look excellent," Elsa said, managing a stiff smile.  
"Blueberry pie for me," declared Anna, who had so far been listening quietly, rushing to look at the pastries in the glass display with a wide, brilliant smile – and conveniently obscuring Elsa from the window. "Oh, but they _all_ look so good! I just can't decide! Does that one have marzipan?"  
"Indeed it does! Your Highness has a keen eye! Søren, show Princess Anna the pastries." Mrs. Vigdis' smile faded once her husband's bulky frame was between her and the windows, and she leaned back in. "Well. I'm just glad I sent Johan, who's married since last spring, and not our Lillian, who's just twelve, Your Majesty understands." Elsa nodded, her mouth pressed to a thin line.

Next to them, Oskarsen and Anna had launched into a lively and loud discussion about all the different kinds of tarts the bakery provided. Every now and then, Anna waved cheerfully at the people in the window, eliciting delighted, muffled squealing and more jostling.

"Once I saw the – _picture_," Mrs. Vigdis spat the word from between her teeth, "I told Søren that the bread could wait, that this was important. He tried to grumble about his duty to the customers, but I told him that he had a bigger duty to his Queen, and he listened. Well, ma'am. We sent the boys out, and I put the girls to work so we had some bread to sell, and I told them all that I'd whip the poor fool who'd blabber about this black and blue, pardon me, ma'am. We've been paying particular attention to the goings-on of the town in the mornings ever since. It was Johan who first noticed the second pamphlets being spread, though the crooks ran off before he got a good look at them. It was closer to daybreak, and there were more than before, so Søren asked Mr. Kronstad for help. We humbly beg Your Majesty's forgiveness for telling them," she sighed, and Elsa nodded graciously, "but Einar Kronstad's a good and reliable man, and his boys too, they know to keep quiet. Especially as I've impressed to them the utmost importance of confidentiality, ma'am, and promised – beg Your Majesty's pardon – to castrate the boys myself should they ever discuss the pamphlets, even with each other."

A queasy feeling crept around Elsa's gut, weighing like lead and burning with bitter nausea, when she thought about the apprentices snickering amongst themselves about the pictures. Who knew, maybe they had stashed one of the pamphlets, and were passing it around? Mrs. Vigdis scrutinised her intently.

"Don't let it get to you, ma'am," she said suddenly. "There's always people like that, ma'am, bitter people who think a woman is too lively, too strong-minded, too something, and they'll call her _indecent_ to shut her up." She cocked her head and smiled crookedly. "But if being decent means being quiet and humble – well, _you_ can never be a decent woman, Your Majesty. You must _rule_, you see. You are the leader of Arendelle, ma'am, it's your duty to protect her interests and crush her enemies, and you can't do that if you can't bear being a bit scandalous." A twinkle lit in her eye.  
"I'm afraid, Your Majesty, that people in charge can't afford maidenly decency," she smiled. "No triumphs to be won that way."  
Surprised, Elsa stared at her for a moment, before answering her smile.  
"It seems you speak from experience, Mrs. Oskarsen," she chuckled.

Mrs. Vigdis' smile widened.  
"Oh, indeed, ma'am. When I met my Søren, he was a fine strong man with skilful hands and a lot of promise, but no real prospects. My father owned two farms, and he'd gathered me a dowry so impressive he wanted to set me up with the better tradesfolk, not a country baker like him," she nodded towards Oskarsen. "But as soon as I talked with him I knew he had real talent and was the man I'd marry." She laughed happily. "And that's just what I did, though he took some persuading and the local girls didn't like it one bit – and neither did my father! But then it was too late to complain, and Søren learned how to do confectionery fine enough for anyone, and the dowry fixed us up quite nicely," she grinned. "So you see, ma'am, sometimes in life you encounter the thing that's right for you, it appears out of nowhere and you just know, and you simply have to have the guts to go after it – even if you have to be slightly indecent about it."

She laughed again, so heartily her thick chain necklace jingled as it shook with her bosom. There was something about Mrs. Vigdis, something jubilantly good-natured and overpowering that gave the impression she'd succeed in whatever she set out to do. Elsa found herself feeling somewhat jealous of her confidence, but the weight in her gut had melted away.

Anna noticed they were done with the serious talk, and instantly decided on a slice of chocolate-orange cake with ginger. She insisted on taking care of the promissory note in her turn, and signed it simply "A", with a grand, decorative flourish.  
"I've heard it's how the royalty on the continent signs things, initials only," she whispered to Elsa as they made their way to the table. "Quite grand, don't you think?"  
"Very elegant," Elsa whispered back while Mrs. Vigdis was bringing their refreshments over on a silver tray.

•••

"Oh, by the way, what were the Galtefjelle Scuffles," Anna asked under her voice, picking up her spoon, once they were alone. "I feel like I should know."  
"You should," Elsa sighed, smiling. "The king died without an heir and the different branches of the family started to argue about who should sit on the throne. The Galte branch was exceedingly relentless and refused to accept the legitimate heir, going so far as to take up arms. There were some battles on their lands up in Galtefjelle, and it was close to developing into a full-on civil war, but the loyalists in the area managed to subdue them and our great-great-grandpappa ascended to the throne at age 16 as Magnus VIII." Elsa poured some milk in her coffee. "There's a portrait of him in the green salon, I believe. Young boy on a horse in full armour, among a crowd, with a dark and stormy mountain landscape behind him and a golden crocus glowing on his palm?"  
"Oh, him! Wow. How awful, for a family to fight itself like that." Anna sank the spoon into the cake and lifted a piece indulgently to her mouth.

"Ooh, it's delicious," Anna sighed as soon as she tasted her cake, the spoon still on her lips. "This is so nice, Elsa, the whole trip, we have to do this again!"  
"It's a wonderful day, isn't it," Elsa smiled, stirring her coffee. She took a small sip, glancing at the townspeople through the lace curtains, and gave them a friendly nod of acknowledgement. "Hmm, I think there's a hint of cardamom in the coffee, it's delightful."  
"What about your _kanelbolle_, " Anna asked. Elsa broke a small bit off the side and popped it into her mouth.  
"Mhmm," she nodded. "Fantastic and fresh."  
"As good as Gerda's blueberry tarts?"  
Elsa smiled at the reference to her favourite of the dessert tasting Anna had organised a week earlier.  
"Different. Both are excellent. I'm not quite ready to declare the blueberry tarts dethroned yet," she grinned. Anna smiled back, stirred some sugar into her coffee, leaned back into her plush armchair and gazed out of the window, sipping her coffee and smiling at the citizens.

The birds chirped in the long, contemplative silence. Elsa could almost see her sister's thoughts shift their course towards graver matters, sensing the mood turn sombre. _  
Here it comes_, she thought when Anna finally drew breath to speak.

"I wish you'd show me the pamphlet, though."  
"Out of the question," Elsa sighed. "I've told you."  
"I can handle it, you know. I'm not a child, you don't need to shelter-"  
"It's not that."  
"Isn't it?" Anna turned to look at her, still smiling, but her eyes were serious. "Elsa, I want to help. I shouldn't have gone away with Kristoff, that was selfish – I wasn't thinking, I should have been here for you," her voice was earnest. Elsa closed her eyes.  
"But I'm here now," Anna continued. "I'm here, and we're going to face this and make it through _together_. Elsa," her voice pleaded, and Elsa looked at her. "Let me carry some of the weight. You don't need to shut me out to protect me any more –"  
"It's not that," Elsa repeated, placing her coffee-cup back on the table. "I know _you_ could face it. _I_ can't. I don't want you – I don't want _anyone_ to see those images of me. I want them to vanish. I want to obliterate them from existence."  
Her hand resting on the table had curled to a fist, and under it an ice crystal was spreading out on the mahogany.  
Anna reached over and took her hand.  
"I wish you'd let me help you," she said seriously.  
"You _are_ helping, Anna," Elsa breathed, squeezing her hand back. "Just by being there, you help so much you can't imagine. Your support means the world to me." The sisters smiled at each other, and for a while Elsa felt something extraordinary and warm flowing between their bodies, like some of Anna's indefatigable optimism was slowly seeping into her.

But then they let go and leaned back to their chairs, and Anna's thoughts twisted her mouth.  
"_He's_ seen it though, hasn't he," she said sullenly.  
Elsa clicked her tongue out of exasperation, without meaning to.  
"He's my steward. He _needs_ to know to be able to deal with it properly, to manage the affairs of the state-" Anna huffed audibly and rolled her eyes, "_with me_," Elsa stressed. "Under my supervision."  
"Elsa," Anna said earnestly,"he tried-"  
"Tried to kill me, yes, I know," Elsa finished in unison with her. "_I know_, Anna, he came after me with a sword, he planned to have me assassinated to steal the throne, he locked you in the chess room to die – I haven't forgotten. I'm highly aware that he's dangerous."  
"Are you really?"  
"_Yes._"  
"You've made him your personal steward. Personal! You're meeting him alone every day, blithely handing him just what he wants, he's meddling with the deepest state secrets, at the heart of power-"  
"Anna, I have him under control."  
Sometimes, Elsa wondered if she had herself under control, but that definitely wasn't something to bring up now.  
"That's why I dare to employ him," she continued." He's most useful to me, to Arendelle, where he is; by my side. I need his skills at the fray, counselling me about the difficult decisions, not transcribing some budget ledgers or rotting in a cell or shovelling dung. We've been over this," she sighed, rubbing her eyes. "I need his help."  
"That's what he's gotten you to believe," Anna huffed. She crossed her arms, gently shaking her head. "I should never have left you alone. You had to face him on your own, inexperienced, outmatched, susceptible to his worldly charms and ruthless manipulation…"

"I'm not a wide-eyed patsy," Elsa interrupted, piqued. The expression on Anna's face ground up sparks of irritation within her. "Don't give me that look. I'm aware he's a scheming traitor. That's exactly why he's so useful to me – to _us_."  
Anna gave her a withering look of doubt.  
"Don't you see, Anna? Politics is a hard and cruel game. We, both of us, are too sheltered and gentle to play it well, but he's not. He's experienced with scheming, deceit, corruption, political machinations, manipulation; all the dirty tricks," Elsa ticked them off with her fingers. "He's devious enough to outmanoeuvre most anyone. He's crafty and cold-blooded – and that's exactly why I want him and his expertise in cut-throat deception on _Arendelle's_ side."

Anna bit her lip, reluctantly nodding her head.  
"Yeah, you have a point," she muttered. "I'll give you that. But I still think it's not worth the risk. He's like an unpredictable, capricious beast – he acts gentle, he's got you convinced, 'ooh let me help and protect you' – but the moment you really trust him, he'll kick you in the face," she grimaced. "I worry about you becoming too reliant on him," she said, shaking her head. "I feel like you're cuddling a scorpion and trying to convince me that it's cute and harmless when it's readying its teeth to bite you in the neck."  
"Scorpions sting, they don't bite," Elsa said absentmindedly. "They're Arachnids, but of a different order than spiders."  
"Irrelevant," Anna said serenely. "You know what I meant."

Elsa sighed, picked up her coffee cup and looked out of the window again. Despite her outward assurances, the uncertainty was constantly gnawing within her, the heavy doubt stalking at her heels and clawing at her heart. Anna's persistent warnings rang true whether she wanted to hear them or not, it was quite likely that he was indeed just trying to get her to lower her defences through acting sweet.

_And if he is, it's working_, she thought glumly. She could profess shrewd statements of her distrust till the cows came home, but the truth was that if there was a trap, she'd long since stepped into it and was very much relying on him. She hadn't even realised how bad it had got before Anna's incredulous shock had shaken her head from the clouds. Since then, she'd made several attempts to get her unsound attraction to him under control, but it had broken completely free of its reins and was rampaging through her heart, ignoring her feeble orders. Worse, she couldn't bring herself to admitting the situation to Anna, and instead hid her weakness and lied about remaining unaffected by Hans. Unwittingly, Elsa started to stir the spoon in her coffee, as if spooling her thoughts.

She simply didn't _want_ to let him go, reason be damned.  
She enjoyed his presence and longed for it every moment she was away from him. Even now, in this long-awaited, wonderful moment of relaxing and treats with dear Anna, her thoughts went to him, on what he might be doing back at the castle.

Thinking of him suddenly alighted the memory in her mind, it coursed through her with a thundering rush, and she could almost smell his scent, feel his touch, hear the sound of his comforting voice, and the memory of the intoxicating security he had made her feel swelled and vibrated within her.

They had planned to start the preparations for re-assembling her Royal Cabinet, and possibly for a Grand Assembly of the estates while they were at it, Arendelle was long overdue for one. She had relocated their meetings to a smaller study in the lower floors a week earlier, both to make Prince Hans climb fewer stairs in his still recuperating state, and to keep him out of Anna's path. The secluded location of the room had added a strange, thrillingly illicit feel to her daily private meetings with Hans, making her feel every morning like she was on her way to some clandestine, improper rendez-vous.

When she'd entered the room, she'd known at once. Captain Arnesen had been there, hunched over something with Prince Hans, and when they'd turned towards her, Elsa's blood had ran cold and heavy with the realisation of what had happened. Arnesen had quickly excused himself, a hint of sympathy behind his stern, polite visage. Prince Hans had stood in the middle of the floor with the folded pamphlet in his hands, evenly facing her with lips pursed so tight they'd vanished, a mix of grimness, frustration and worry darkening his colourfully bruised features.

Wordlessly, he'd offered it to her. She'd hesitated for a heartbeat, steeling herself, before she'd walked up to him and opened it with shaking hands.  
It was somehow worse than before, much worse; this time the obscene snow monster bore a distinct resemblance to Olaf, and it had made it all so much more personal and repulsive a growl had risen from her throat as she'd crushed the pamphlet in her hands, her disgust freezing it into a solid chunk of ice. In frustration, she'd thrown the ice-chunk into a wall, biting her lip to keep back the tears stinging in her eyes. She wouldn't cry about this, they wouldn't make her cry. She'd buried her face in her hands, forcing her breathing to stay steady as the frost had churned in her, fierce and angry and jagged, mixing with a deep sense of humiliation and shame.

_It's too much_, she'd thought. It wasn't fair to defile Olaf like that, he'd done nothing to them, he'd done nothing to anybody. She had been so overwhelmed by her emotions she hadn't heard the footsteps behind her.

She had sensed his touch before she felt it; his presence materialising behind her, the tense anticipation as he'd hesitated – and then he'd placed his hand on her, and the way its weight had settled against her shoulder was extraordinary, with a new, immense feeling of closeness, as if the hand would have belonged there or grown rooted to her body. Hans' touch had been electrifying and soothing at the same time, and it had calmed the frost jerking within her like an unsettled horse. The sudden blooms of relief and longing and giddiness had blended in with the shame, and the whirlpool of emotions had sent Elsa reeling.

"It's not you", his voice had murmured softly by her ear, the proximity of his strong body warm and inviting at her back.  
"The picture. It doesn't show you, just an idea, an illustration of an imaginary character they fear and don't know. They've just attached your likeness to it."  
His thumb had been making circles on her shoulder-blade, the sensation dizzyingly intimate, and Elsa had felt so weary and weak, and she had been pulled towards him by some gravitational force, as natural and inevitable as the tide or the changing of the seasons – and without quite knowing how it happened, she had turned towards him and was pressing her face into his chest, breathing in his familiar scent as he held her and his voice boomed from within his ribs, enfolding her in a precious sense of security. She had leaned into the feeling, trembling, a sob had escaped her, but whether it'd been of distress or relief, she couldn't say – and then his other hand had been resting on the small of her back, pressing her to him, and she would have gladly stayed like that forever.

"But it's not really you, Elsa," his voice had said, low and gentle. "Remember it. Don't let it touch you," he'd muttered into her hair.  
Elsa sighed, contentedly relaxing against him, his heartbeat thumping in her ears, and suddenly a sharp little cough returned her on the little settee in Vigdis' Salon, trembling with the memory, the thundering heartbeat was her own and the touch caressing her back was the plush velvet covering of the seat.  
She gave a shuddering sigh, and someone coughed again. Elsa noticed Anna was staring at her in a curiously fixed manner, her hands folded across her chest.

"What?"  
"You've been stirring that coffee and staring into space, sighing dreamily, for quite some time now," Anna stated flatly.  
Embarrassed, Elsa removed the spoon from the cup and took a sip, thinking of a response.  
"Have I? Excuse me, Anna, I, uh, got lost in my thoughts."  
"Thinking about scorpions?"  
"State matters," she responded sharply.  
"Oh? It looks like political affairs are a lot more pleasant than I've been led to believe." Elsa shot her an indignant look.  
"Don't be cheeky," she said. "I was just - just mulling over the situation."

Anna studied her silently for a long while, her eyes darting across Elsa's face, examining her.  
"Prince Hans can be very charming," she said slowly. "I know from bitter experience, he can seem like the man of your dreams, he can appear to be perfect if he wants to, handsome and dashing and kind." She leaned closer with an intense look.  
"But it's _all a lie_. All of it. Behind the pretty facade, he's nothing but hatred and bitterness and cruelty."  
Elsa felt the beginnings of a blush tingling on her cheeks, and hoped it didn't show.  
"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Anna," she tried. Anna was having none of it.  
"Especially when you're a bit inexperienced with the world, and he's the first handsome young man you've spent any time with – well, naturally you're vulnerable, more susceptible to his lies, easy to sweep you off your feet," Anna sighed, slightly shaking her head.  
A rather sharp remark appeared tingling on Elsa's tongue, something about how Anna really wasn't one to lecture her about being careful with one's feelings and decisions regarding new people, but she steeled her jaw and bit it back.

"I'm worried, that's all," Anna finished. Cooped up alone with him every day like that, under his influence, with no-one to protect you from his wily, seductive tricks -"  
"He's not _seducing_ me," Elsa snapped without having the time to soften her tone. "If that's what you're implying."  
"I'm only trying to look out for you," Anna said, taken aback. "I'm just saying, it's not like you have any experience with how totally vile men can be regardless of their charming smiles and handsome, reliable appearances." She wrinkled her brow in realisation. "Actually, you haven't even met any handsome men apart from him and Kristoff, have you?"  
Elsa cocked her eyebrow at her, irritated and uncomfortable.  
"Are you insinuating I'm so daft I'd go and fall head over heels for the first strapping man I see, the instant there's a bit of flirtation? Despite knowing he's a murderous traitor?"  
"Well, no, but I'm sure meeting some new people would do you good," Anna said innocently. "Widen your perspectives a bit, to see he's not the only gorgeous dreamboat in the world."

Anna lifted another piece of cake into her mouth. "You know, he doesn't seem all that fantastic once you meet a man of _real_ quality. I understood that once I'd met Kristoff," she said through the cake. "In fact, I'm sure that if you'd make the slightest effort to meet someone new, you'd instantly find a much more suitable man," she grinned at her mischievously.  
Elsa pinched the bridge of her nose.  
"Anna, please. I am not romantically interested in Prince Hans," she lied with conviction. "I'll admit I find him very handsome," Anna's brow shot up, and Elsa tried to backtrack clumsily, "but I'm not keeping him around because I think he's extremely attractive and charming, or anything like that, I have other things on my mind. It's because he really is good with politics, truly."  
"I'm sure the world is full of men who are downright fantastic with politics, and also have the added benefit of not having tried to kill us," Anna remarked dryly. "I really, _really_ think you should start looking for a different steward."  
"I don't want a different steward. It takes time to get used to someone and build up the trust, especially with my powers-"  
"Trust?" Anna's voice was alarmed.  
"No, no, not _that_ kind of trust," Elsa hastened to cover her blunder. "I meant a kind of ease, uh, strictly professional – the accustomed familiarity which improves the efficiency of the workflow." She could feel the smile she forced out falter on her lips.

Anna was sitting up straighter now, arms crossed, scrutinising her with narrowed eyes. Elsa had to focus to calmly look her in the eye. She felt her nervousness nearly condense into snowflakes in the air, and struggled to keep herself calm. She tried to hide her nerves by taking another sip of the coffee. An ornate clock ticked loudly on the wall.

"Promise me," Anna said slowly after a while of heavy, thick silence, "super sister promise me that you won't marry him."  
"What?" Elsa sputtered into the coffee-cup, so shocked a burst of light snowflakes appeared around her, glistening beautifully as they merrily twirled in the air around them. "I'm not, Anna, of course I'm not going to _marry_ him, good lord. Don't be absurd," she stammered, a blush creeping up her neck. Anna kept peering at her.  
"I mean it. No matter what happens, no matter how he'll act or what he'll say, _promise me_ you won't marry him, or in any other way place him in a position where he'd be somehow eligible for the throne should we die," she said, seriously.  
"Oh, that's what this is about," Elsa sighed, trying to chuckle. "Anna, I told you many times, I have him under control. We have a deal."

"Deals can be broken," Anna said, her jaw tight. "Being in a position of authority like a steward is already bad enough, people might get used to him being in power. Especially since you have no official suitors, he's the only suitable bachelor around, you're both unattached and alone together every day - there will be rumours." Elsa startled at that.  
"And what if," Anna continued, getting carried away, "after months or years of impeccable behaviour and subtle flirting over budget and foreign policy, one day he'll quip about how even the depth of the Arenfjord pales in comparison to the depth of his feelings for you, or how even the combined value of Arendelle's gross national product is nothing compared to the value appraisal he places on your presence, and it'll be the most romantic thing you ever heard because your experiences are so woefully limited, and you'll imagine yourself in love," she said, desperately. _"What then?"_  
She shot Elsa a dramatic look.  
"Then there will be _accidents_," she hissed, "and he'll be the only one left".

Elsa groaned audibly.  
"Oh, for the love of God," she sighed. "Prince Hans won't be in a position to rule over Arendelle ever again, Anna, I promise you that. If it worries you so much, we can have it enacted into a law. How about that? You could have an engraved bronze plaque in the throne-room," Elsa drew a rectangle into the air with her fingers, "_It is hereby decreed that Prince Hans Christian Frederik Gustav of house Westergård-Aldenburg-Halsten-Lyksborg of the Southern Isles shall never again be appointed the ruler of Arendelle in any capacity, regardless of the circumstances_."  
She gave Anna a conciliatory grin. "Would that ease your mind?"  
Anna gazed at her with a queer kind of incredulous suspicion before opening her mouth.

"How," she asked slowly, "do you know his full name?"  
"It came up when we made the agreement," Elsa said. Judging from the way her face tingled, the blush had definitely become visible now. "Naturally I remember the names of the people I work with," she muttered with false nonchalance, dearly hoping Anna wouldn't test her and ask for anybody else's name. Anna kept gazing at her for a heartbeat longer, biting her lip, until she rolled her eyes with a huff and picked the cake up again.  
"The plaque and the decree in it would make me feel better, thank you," she said with a smile and cheer. "For the time being."

Elsa decided to cut her losses and only smiled back in return.

.

–

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.

.

*_aln_ (or cubit in English) was an old measurement of length, essentially based on the length of a man's forearm – a generous half-metre. The exact length varied in different countries and cultures, but in Sweden during the 1840s it was 59.38 cm as decreed by king Carl IX in 1605, so in this fic it's around 60 cm for Arendelle.

Lena sold Elsa around 12 metres of fabric, which is a lot, but on the other hand full ballgowns do indeed need a lot. She's a crafty tradeswoman, but she doesn't fleece her family's customers.

** the real-life money systems were changing around A LOT at that time, and after some research I gave up and made up a new system for Arendelle in this fic. It's sort of loosely grounded in history but absolutely not accurate in any way.

The money goes something like:

1 speciedaler = 2,5 daler

1 daler = 48 skillings

I found one online discussion giving example wages for different professions for Norway in the mid 1800s, ranging from 1039 speciedaler / year for a Deputy undersecretary of State to 176 spd/yr for an artisan craftsman, to 77 spd/yr for a lumberjack and 36 spd/yr for a farmer. I'm using them as guidelines for wages in my ficverse.

*** _kanelbolle_ is a type of cinnamon roll.


End file.
